My Babadook.

Underneath, you walk. A creak under old foundation, you caressing my feet, your favorite part. Old roots massaging the diagonal planks by herringbone pattern of hickory bark. You are far in distance, my Babadook, out of reach. To physically touch you is dark magic, black cat luck.

You will stay right there, rest my temperamental love. My misty eyes are only meant for me to watch. Today to say goodbye, then the sprawling of branches, scraping three window panes across. In a line, one by one, down a dim, lit hall - dragging, scratching, breathing, piercing my ears. That nagging silence between each pause.

Breathing… Breath. Is this house becoming darker, small?

You start to creep. You are not staying underground, you want to play.

He howls by wind, “No, my beauty… I want to reminisce.”

Light through space between the broken parts of my shattered heart. Haunting day, the day my soul’s body taken away.

Convince me, a reflection of Hallow’s Eve and trickery. I turn away, and you turning warmth into soot gray. I can feel the closer. The frame of your weathered trunk shadowing, overtaking boundaries, extremities spanning the ceiling in entirety. Stretching down the wall, outlining the floor, brushing the bareness of my left braceleted ankle and leg.

Your dark is so close to me. Alone in home, to feel around me your pensive silhouette overpowering me, cascading my body, covering me. Carrying me.

He speaks in tongue, “You are for me, my Queen.”

I see a thousand long fingers spreading to own me for eternity, if not only the sprawl to choke me. You are enrapturing me. I watch your blackness, your movement rise up my skin to the lower half of my belly. I fall to the far end of nothing more fatal than fear around a rook, crow, Hade’s chariot. My imagination pushing me to hide under blanket and mood. However, too late. You are here inside, sitting next to me, wrapped around tight. Still, calm. And me, hooked. The ready to swallow me. You will go away, my Babadook. I close my eyes, tight.

And true… Nothing more but an old photo of you and me, I look. Now I am sad, you are not real.

You float away, knuckles and knots retreating back to underneath. As you are fading into my shredded sanity, whisper to me, my Prince.

He speaks, “Don’t be afraid.” He lurking back underneath, “I will let you have peace, and keep watch over you, from outside my walls. This old house, I once cherished for you and me. Sleep.”

Between Jerusalem and Mexico, a taboo love.