It begins like a whisper –
provocative fluttering –
dime-sized hole parting
its lips in a slow yawn.
.
The smell of burning flesh
intoxicating like garlands
of decoy-arum. Turgid
heat enveloping his mind.
.
A blue halo flickers
like an Arabian dancer,
hips widening in girth –
vortex of escape.
.
There is an energy prying
from beyond – familiar
past, smelling of burning
future. Flakes of dry fire
.
swirl as graceful atoms –
bonding to his skin – divine
like quick silver; he looks
like their mother’s magic
.
that saved their father
that night. This could be
his chance to rotate the past –
hold it stagnant – the spells
.
he slept with under his dreams.
Gretel nourished on poison –
little girl on a bed of candies –
some things had to be changed;
.
she has been plucking cakes
from walls that no longer exist.
A fire hearth brews wild caramel
while she sleeps. He must leave
.
to find her again – discover
the path to their never-home –
where father drew them deep.
The vortex before him pulses.
.
Visions of their voyaging –
forest to forest – Gretel’s body
famished and foraging – her eyes
hunting; never ceasing.
.
Fire billows inside her
like moon’s silver rain.
.
He steps one foot into the vortex,
in a flash, he’s back home –
before the hunt –
before the fire.
.
He finds mother farming
tomatoes – red plasma cells –
thick and coagulant; ripe as liver.
Gretel eating and eating – ravenous.
.
And then, fire. Arms of wild gold
embracing their mother’s veins.
The plunge of the stake is abrupt
like confusion when pain isn’t felt
.
only seen. Their mother’s eyes
turn lifeless. Father’s hand stabs
into his arm. Gretel in cue.
The vortex unzips its chest;
.
brother and sister thrown
into future – into never –
only he lands on the other side.
He watches Gretel from a mirror;
.
she stares at the throbbing eye
she thinks she knows. Mother
urging from beyond – plying
hand reaching for hers.
.
Gretel will never be found,
his mind blurring as she resists.
The vortex narrows its lips –
all that was will be what is.
.
She doesn’t stir from addiction,
teeth cherry-grimed, ravishing
the moon shadowing in liquorice.
Tonight’s rain will be black honey.
Nyctophiliac Confessions:
Spreading the Writer's Word 
A fantastic poem.
Dualities, wonderment and tragedy all woven brilliantly together as only Sheika A. can do. Thank you for this treat, Sheika!
Wow! Stunning, visceral… I could almost taste parts of this and smell the flames.
Such alluring imagery – love it.