Transfiguration

Petrified, my heart
Refuses your vain entreaties
Deny the charm of your
Silver-plated words
Which do insinuate
Like cold serpents.
Give me your kiss of sin
So I may spit the poison
Into the well of your being
Which I devour —
A rapacious beast.

Whisperer

Let me
Dip
My hands
Into the well
Of your patience
And slake
Anger
At your mercy
Or else
Bridle me
Claim me
As the eye
Does the storm

Well

In the well, the surface is always calm
But deeper it runs than any lake
And longer, does it journey than any river
As unfathomable as an iceberg
It is never as cold
And nurtures a kind reflection
Of those who draws its waters