Foxgloves

Bright beguiling blooms,
My ringing witch bells
Slide over your heart,
Creep into every vein of your soul.
With every echoing beat
Faerie folk’s home becomes your cage
Of obsidian thorns
And verdant blaze.
Perfect poison
For the Sol and Lune.

All you need is love Aimée.
Jealous, selfish, greedy;
Everything that Love truly is,
To poison the heart
And twist the soul.

By-Istas

Author's Notes:

Thank you everyone who helped me work on this. Techogre for the French especially. A whole host of people edited, pre-read, and dissected this work. Thank you all.