You poison everythingYou touch like a
Hemlock-headed witch.The night thickens and
Laments as the twinedNoise in the tar-colored
Night rides down
From the twisted oak
Trees.I cannot hold your
Wretched hands.I cannot trust that which
Is demonic.I ride the waves of the
Moon’s light alone downTo the earth’s floor.
I must be an island.
The stars glisten in the indigo sky
as the moon shows its bald luminescent
face in the cold hours of the night.
I wait for you in our icy bed to come
and melt the frost away.
I cling to my heart -
my soul lingers like a child wanting
Dawnell Harrision has been published in over 100 magazines and journals including The Endicott Review, The Journal, Fowl Feathered Review, The Bitchin' Kitsch, Vox Poetica, The Tower Journal, Queen's Quarterly, and many others.