the first prerequisite of witchcraft
is that you must be a collector
a collector of books with pieces of sage tucked
inside yellowed pages
a collector of sea glass found on
drives to the ocean because you are nothing
without the tide
i've always been a collector of people
i've stacked them in mason jars and secondhand
jewelry boxes
i've memorized the sound of blood moving around in their veins and what their skin feels like pressed up against my chest
i've hunted the sensation of your mouth on
mine
the way your tongue takes my breath like a snake coiled behind my teeth
how you know the weak spot where my shoulder meets the sunrise
it's less like a moment suspended in
amber
and more like i'm trying to pull the stories from your bones
i could feel my lungs being bruised as you cupped my cheek
and I'm starting to wonder
if I should start collecting your kisses,
instead
