Pheromones

Isabella Sklenar

One big black boiling pot

flames seducing the rim

embers choking the air.

In it goes,

two sprouts of a fissel brush

half cup of hickory honey

a pint of patulla seeds

one dragula bean,

and a hand plucked gressawick feather

all that I may ever need.

Twist it all together

with an oak tree arm,

grab the laddle

and pour the burbling desire

into the bottle

drippleing down.

It’s divine,

what it must take

to swoon every man in sight.

If they come close enough

and may see

what it is that possess them

to me.

It not a tale nor villain story,

I’ve just perfected my

femininity.