October
Nov 2 · 1 min read
[goldhat; poetry]

[raw text]
October
She said it was the time of ghosts and witches.
I remember that month. The chill came from the north.
Eyes watched you. It wasn’t just the two of us, you said.
The familiar always came at the call. Little rat tails, little cat ears.
Your midnight sabbath had its potions, sweet and sick.
I knew you could wreak spells: you knew I knew.
The pitch night was a long drizzling dream.
Absent rituals left us betrayed and starved.
And weren’t our corpses just gaunt blood pretending?
Devils, prophecies — do you believe in aesthetics?
I smiled once the spirits left. Just old possessive friends.
The final day was so warm. It was a hexless month.
Maybe you were the ghost, and I was the witch.
