Wicked is the way.

Wicked is the winding way,

Up unto your serpents heart that beneath your rose tipped breast doth lay.

By the long and flowing white silken Road that twixt your feet is begun and then as a reversed river the course be run.

Unto your snow white belly witch, round and by the budding bottom that so richly deserves the switch.

Up, up  and more still, the ragged ridges of your ribs my eyes doth fill. Close, so close to your heart am I now, I feel the beating and see the pulse with naked eye.

What waits on me when I arrive? Will you cast me down or take me in make me feel alive?

Wicked is the winding way, Up this mountain high, the snowy peaks your guile belie. 

Your wiles I see, I know them all. You’ll not see me, lovely mountain, broken for the sake of your tumbling fall.

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Published by

Jacko Steenekamp

To sum myself up is simple. I'm weird.

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