A poem by Julia R. DeStefano

Photo by Rhett Wesley on Unsplash

“I love it when you get your naughty eyes,”

he tells me -

though his are far naughtier.

I like to swim the depths of those oceans,

wondering how he got them.

Because there’s always a story.

A first time.

I remember playing love witch.

Vibrating in the chants of love me, love me

as girls do in their Stevie twirl.

The words dancing upon my lips

before I could speak.

Because even then, I knew what I needed.

I’d look for my bedroom eyes

in the mirror’s gaze.

Marilyn as my inspiration.

A little cat-eye here,

a heavy lid there.

More hungry than ready

but unable to activate.

System failure.

I was unaware of the Word Witch

waiting to emerge

with the song in her heart

and verse dripping from her fingertips.

How she’d come when I ceased trying so hard

in all her copper fluid fire glory.

This supernatural vixen

of my girlish fantasies turned real.

And she was me!

I did not know this woman I would be.

With words enough to make you fly,

I got

my naughty eyes.

The Red Queen in her crown. YA & adult poetry. Love & relationships. I preserve moments in the glistening amber of language. #WhirlingIntoFlame now available.