Fairy Tale Nightmare

Hand  sell a

petal,  her left

a breadcrumb

trail to the

cottaged witch

who bejewelled her

house with candies

rich and steamed

her chimney ginger

hot above the stewing pot of

curdledtoffee

local flavour,

treat them softly

first titbits 

then gulping till

brimful through

their syrup-still

gaze she’ll

strike straight terror. Hands will

drop and

gate will lock.

Inside , the two

will quake and squeeze

but bars are

black and locks are

teethed.

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