Sorcery

Your world,
the stuff of dreams,
that soft collision
of gently worn ghosts
and the fraying edges
of summer nights,
pools under the sky
like the backwater of heaven.

Rifts of melodies,
caught round your fingers,
court and spark
the softest demons -
full of poetry
and sweet oaths;
and dark stars,
bright as crickets,
glister with agate
against the window.

You wear me
like linen and cloves,
fine smoke from storms
and the echo of midnight,
caught under your spell.