⛧ Author’s Note ⛧

This piece was not written as metaphor,
but as invocation.
It is both prayer and curse,
both hunger and hymn.
Read it aloud if you dare—
it was meant to be spoken.

⛧ Invocation ⛧

Come closer—
not with curiosity, not with caution,
but with hunger threaded through your bones.
This is no simple poem,
but a summoning of what burns
beneath your skin, beneath your breath.
Read it with your pulse,
your shadow, your ache.

⛧ The Spell ⛧

By ash and thorn, by blood and breath,
I call you close through life and death.
No leash, no cage, no forced command—
just whispered want and open hand.

I stir the night with sacred fire,
a potion laced with raw desire.
Your name upon my lips, a hymn—
a sin I wear upon my skin.

With salt and smoke, with tongue and flame,
I bend the stars to spell your name.
No tricks, no traps, no charm that binds—
just truth that haunts the heart and mind.

I mark the path with velvet thread,
where softer souls have feared to tread.
Come to me not out of need,
but hunger only I can feed.

Let others beg for skin and thrill—
I want the ache your silence kills.
I want the pulse behind your eyes,
the smirk that cuts, the truth that hides.

I want the burn, the bite, the bruise,
the wild thing you never lose.
The wicked grin that makes me fall,
and rise again to take it all.

So if you come, come not afraid—
come as the curse I gladly prayed.
A holy sin, a fever dream—
my altar etched in midnight gleam.

And when we meet, if fate allows,
no crowns, no chains, no hollow vows—
just soul to soul, and breath to breath,
our magic born of life and death.

So mote it be.
So let it start.
You are the flame
that owns my heart.

⛧ Benediction ⛧

Go now, with smoke on your tongue
and fire in your chest.
Carry this hunger like a secret sigil,
let it curl beneath your ribs,
let it mark your nights and mornings.
The spell is spoken,
the circle unbroken,
and what was named
cannot be unnamed.