Dance round this mouth of mine,
So like with charcoal and sand.
I whisper yon secrets of older tongues,
To embue your body divine.
Twist root, break bone, eat flesh unclean,
And settle upon a plinth of stone.
Bare breast, drink deep a draft of spirits,
And let rivulets of blood wash down.
Then call upon a name quite clear,
To fit your final form unbound.
And with this mouth gutter twice at the waning moon,
Release your fear upon this world take up a lycanth’s howl.
-M.E. InkOwl
