Are we the alchemy
of your stones, blood,
and sonorous sorcery?
Or are we sixteen strands
of your hair wound
and nine-knotted around
the wish-imbued paper
I set ablaze
in a rose bed at half-moon?
Who is binding whom?
Are we dopamine-spiked
oxytocin
protein-surfing, touch primal?
And do we mind-wander
palms together
in ambitious wishes
fate-glued to each other’s
mind-made rooms,
rub our enchanted trinkets?
Who’s enchaining whom?
