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Left in daylight,courted in dreams

the elusive touch remains

just below the surface of waking

tangibly unreal

A ghost of Christmas Never

but true all the same

You can feel it on your tongue

and taste it in your spine

It smells like laughter

The realest thing that never was

No one can take

that paradox from you

And though we laugh about Lot’s wife

there are other kinds of salt

There are oceans and there are tears

The salt-sweet acrid taste of her bloodied,broken heart

as she becomes the sacrifice

Drink deeply of her goddess cup

And you will wane

But you will live again,my friend

Though after the first death there is no other

Eyes fringed with secrets

Soft lips holding back whispers

There are things known

not yet in any book

She has magick enough

To turn worlds

There is

more danger in her childlike brow

than in the kindled flames

of a thousand suns

And she will burn brightly yet