I am what remains of uncast spells and brewing prayers,
brimming with burgeoning blight and unfed nightmares,
and the cauldron capsizes,
and I try to wash my bones of this callous curse,
but I am a perilous plague searching for a home in the tenderness of your healing touch, your hands grasped tightly to moaning miracles,
I watch as your sorcery bleeds sanctity on my tongue,
proclaiming sanctuary,
drumming spellbound tones against my cheek,
rendering my brokenness whole, your alchemy purifies me,
And I am what remains —

© cracksfilledwithgold
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(written for prompt on IG)