Two witches, cracked windshield—
coffee steam spells,
moonlight ink.
She reads,
I draw,
night holds its breath—
stars lean close
to listen.
Rust-eaten porch, moon on our skin—
we soldier broken nights into starlight.
Her laugh sparks, my smoke curls,
we weld new constellations
from busted dreams.
Magic’s just love
that refuses to die.
-Artwork created in Photoshop and additional image-painting programs
-Poetry written by me
-both copyright to ©Stacy Stephens