How to Cast a Spell

Take letters and set a part to each
a starred point a part.
Take tongue along every curve and line,
linger your tip into between each slope, tiny tiptoes like a light kiss to each and every dip, until
a bit of glitter sticks glued, a bit of
bubblegum goo, faint hazy watermelon mint
long left from the lips of the lover whose everlasting gobstopper still gobbles, then dip, again
just the tip
into the gurgling cauldron of your stewing sea.
Swish and slip that thrashing muscle with a quick lapping but take only a sip, then
smack your mouth six times, as the salt slips and seeps, a warm coat softening the sphincter as then
the layers of sea and gum absorb into
the muscularis, the circling cricopharynxgeus
until tendons constrict
pulsing fibers proceeding caudally,
until surrounded, wetted and wombed, the letters curl back soaking, stroking and swim them out back out through that still slick moving muscle, and relax
gull the words back into a sentence, into
a slurred purr of power, a purpose
let loose, a chosen.
Observe the light flicker, first shaking
red sparking, then splintering, then splashing then swelling
then surging, then
birthing sudden:
a billion blasts of blue.

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© 2022 Monica Lewis