Prologue – The Emma Bruegel Project

If on a winter’s night a traveler knocks upon your door
don’t open,
whoever walks this late among the shadows
is spectre,
is ghost, a headless apparition
someone who is no more than a distortion of light
among creatures
at midnight in the garden of good and evil.
Can you hear the wood crackling when it burns?
it’s tortured by the song of witches,
a lullaby
for the newborn emerald snakes,
above the moon is battered,
its cries which flow from a crevice of lips similar to demons
lurking in the mossy glen,
I can’t describe the unbearable lightness of being
without addressing promiscuity,
I can hear an incubus frantically pacing outside the window
his lust
a nostalgic craving of rose sangria in Paris,
I dare not part the curtains
lest his eyes take in the shape of my collarbone soft
and subtle in the semi-darkness
now the dying flowers have blinded the clouds
once more
before dropping the act, before delivering the last omen
tell me,
would you still like me to open the door?


Photo credits: Jolygram

The book titles which I have chosen are in italics ❤️

Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads