Most Sacred Devil, Come To Me: An Ode To The Witch’s Lover.
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I bear your burn-mark willingly and without apology, you bearded Devil.
Others have told me I should be alone, that no man or woman could ever survive my sharp nails and my womb-fangs.
When I go to meet you under the Quickening Moon’s light in the winter forest where the dead-things move, I tell myself that it could be the last time.
A heaven-born blow might strike us both down at sunrise, Witch that I am and Devil that you are, and I might never again roll my tongue against your teeth.
I might never again surrender to you as I will now, heart and legs wide open in the cold dirt. Yes, I pray we live through this night, my Lover, but truth be told, neither of us may survive until dawn.
I wait for you, a man so magickally unruined by false notions of pure princesses, brightly lit madonnas, and demonized whores. I am none of these things, and you have known that from the beginning.
I wait for you, the bark of the winter oak scraping my bare back, and I know that you will come to me as you always do.
Others have met me here, in this forest so enchanted by ancient love spells and doomed fairy tales, but I have never longed for anyone the way I long for you.
You see me as no one does, even in the darkest nights of our soul-born anguish when we mourned for children that would never be born. Yes, even in the black of midnight’s grief, you see me.
Right now, I can feel your invisible gaze on my skin, and I bite my lip bloody.
I wait for you, my most sacred Devil, the one I am not supposed to have. I have broken the rules, you see, and I have sacrificed much so that our love may live. Mind you, I know the Witch’s Lover has given up quite a lot as well.
You have lost the freedom of an untethered heart, and I have sunk my blade deep into a life of well-deserved debauchery; that blade now rests against a tree far from my grasp, the light of my dying torch dancing on the metal.
I don’t lay down my weapons easily, as you know. I have crafted the most ornate iron fence around my so-betrayed body, and guarded it with all that I am.
Now, my two most sacred gates are open for you, my Devil Lover, and only for you. Come to me, now. Find me in the night and pour your thoughtful words into my heart center.
My sacral cauldron bubbles over under this full moon, and I can wait no longer.
You know, my horned god — oh, how you know! — that this Witch hates to be vulnerable, so hear me when I whisper these words, see the rivulets of reluctant tears on my cheeks, taste the bitter blood on my chin, drink in the scent of my surrender, and feel my heart-drum quickening: I need you. From the bottom of my fiercely feminist, so-protected soul, I need you.
Devil, come out, come out, wherever you are. I have waited so long, lived lifetimes as a hunted one, just to stand naked in the woods waiting for my lover. Step from out of the trees’ shadows and kiss me.
Let’s live an entire lifetime in one sultry lip-lock between a Witch and her Devil. We’ll both die a small death when we break apart, only to be a tantric star reborn when we join again. Be my hydrogen Shiva, and I’ll be your helium Shakti.
Oh, the irony of being a Witch so willingly burned over and over again in such sacred fusion!
Even stars die, so let’s not postpone this magick. Death looms all around us, more ominous than these great oaks. One way or another, this body of mine, now so sweet-juiced, will be rotten and stinking in the ground before too long.
Get it while you can, my horned one. Let’s writhe atop the ground while we are able, before the worms twist around our crumbling bones. Every ounce of my blood nourishes my love for you. Every tilt of my sacrum is a mini mating dance.
Devil, I am your Witch-Bride. Were we alive in another time, no amount of religion could have saved us. Now, the only doom that will befall our partnership will be sourced from nature Herself.
Yes, death is here with us now, and the wheel is ever-turning. Our souls may be bound in this life, but who is to say we will be together in the next?
I have seized this great romance of ours with all that I am, but in only a century’s time, no one will remember the perfect passion with which you play guitar or I write. Our art, your devil’s clay and my witch’s wool, will be lost and nameless.
Our story, to us so momentous, will likely not be told in any storybook.
So this is it, my sacred lover. All we have is this night under the waxing winter moon. Come to claim me, as I have claimed you. Let me feel your hell-born hands on me, and I will cast my womb-spell on you.
I’ll show you the places you have marked me — here and here — and I will let you read my Book of Shadows. Harvest my mystery, Devil-Man, for I already know your secrets.
I whisper this into the night now, hoping you hear me: I love you. Come find me.
Ah, I see you now, crouching near the tallest oak, the light of the Quickening Moon bouncing off your twisted horns. You have been watching me this whole time, you damned Devil. Get over here.
All the love in your eyes will not tame me, not that you would want me unwild, and your skin is talking to my skin even now, with all this distance between us. Get over here, and kiss me like we have both been condemned to die at dawn.
Pour me some red wine, and touch me like this is the only night our souls have bodies. I’ll rinse the poison off and show you how I really taste. Get over here, and honor this Lovers’ Night like it deserves to be honored.
Let’s practice the Great Rite like the Goddess and God we are, and if this Witch-Bride and her Devil do not live to see another day on this green Earth, so be it.
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Danielle Dulsky is a multi-passionate entrepreneur, energy-healer, Yoga teacher, multi-media artist, and magickal mentor. She holds the highest designation from Yoga Alliance as an E-RYT500, and is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless creators of their sacred work. She is the founder and creatrix of the Living Mandala Yoga teacher training programs, a Reiki Master in the Usui-Tibetan tradition, and long-time believer in Earth-based traditions. Her work is based on sensing and transforming energetic vibrations, empowering individuals to discover their potential for authentic abundance, using artistic practice intuitively, and holding space for women to unearth their inner goddess through the magick of sisterhood. Danielle leads women circles, witchcraft workshops, a teaching coven, and psychic development intensives in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania where she lives with her partner Ryan, sons Bodhi and Sage, and pet-familiars Jeepster and Raven. She believes that all women alive today are meant to be instrumental in supporting the return of the Divine Feminine. You could contact her via email.
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