thaumaturgy By a a khaliq


—sometimes translated as wonderworking.

i wonder how it all works inside those ribs,
i imagine them made of a polished gold.
and that heart of yours, inlaid in your chest,
a gem i would keep in my mouth, as the pearl
in a dragon’s jaws. i wonder how it tastes.

in awe i stare at these hands, the palms
that cup water for ablution, the bony fingers
tapering. the wonders begin here, tremors
working down each knob. shining golden
when i touch your chest. blinding. burning—

yes. it is a wonder when i touch you,
the trembling bass under my palms.
the weight of you, the scent.
i close my eyes to ensure this is no vision.
this is miracle. i work the wonder from you.
you work the wonder from me. the room glows—

or we do. pearls scatter. light bounces, photons
like diamond sparks. one ritual left, before
i turn the wonder over and over in my mind.
wrap you back in your velvet. press my mouth
to the spine. the thaumaturge must depart—

but that red-gold remains behind blinking eyes.

By a a khaliq


a a khaliq is a medical student from the midwest. She writes, in the tradition of Kafka, to close her eyes.

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