A Love Spell

You start to see through the old superstitions when you cook.
What better way to get a bushel of apples peeled
Than to tell the young ladies that a whole peel in one strip
Thrown over the shoulder
Will fall into true love’s initials?

Butterflies in the stomach turn to pie and mulled cider.
Each step, delicious. 
This is the point of magic.

I know you want love.
I see you there with your paring knife ready,
Blade held flush to rosy skin.
Drop it. 
You will find love without prognostication.
Knowledge of the future pulls it no closer,
And monograms are mere distraction.

Here’s a better spell:

Bite the apple.
Close your eyes and sink your teeth into crisp flesh.
Let tart juice fill your mouth and run down your chin.
Feel the full contours of your own experience of pleasure;
Feel the pleasure of experience.
Right here, and right now.

Feed your senses to feed your heart.
Each step, delicious.
This is the point of love.

PoetryKat ForsterKat Forster