A Writing Ritual

Ward ignites via candle flame
to protect the sanctuary
of my habitat bedroom.
Heady jasmine incense curls
around invisible barriers.
I scry.
Nothing appears 
in the obsidian mirror.

I shed skin
as the sun goes down
upon me.
Warmth radiates
from brain stem,
along snaking spine,
to end at my rattler tail.

Sticky with humidity,
tonight’s July air
hugs my curves
as sweat glistens on flesh.
Petrichor arrives - an omen.
Late night summer rain 
threatens to spill
across the threshold 
of an open window.

Pen in hand,
blank paper beneath.
Blood thickens,
serves as ink.
Hisses.
Puffs.
Rumbles.
Growls.
A spell compels
falling away of scales.

Suddenly,
you appear in my mirror.
I knew I’d find you.
You’re always near.
Now I write.

So it is and shall always be.