My Witch
No moonkindled, catstroking, broomspindled girl, this!
her magic lies
in thoughtless motion
in husky laughter and
the way those brassy ringlets
snare wafts of incense to enchant
near inhalations.
That spellweaving, silverclad, runekneading lass
sometimes spins
a web of quiet glances
and baits it with a luscious grin.
I fall an eager victim to her
heady machinations and
find myself inclined to wrestle
farther still within her spell.
No moonkindled, catstroking, broomspindled girl, this!
her magic lies
in thoughtless motion
in husky laughter and
the way those brassy ringlets
snare wafts of incense to enchant
near inhalations.
That spellweaving, silverclad, runekneading lass
sometimes spins
a web of quiet glances
and baits it with a luscious grin.
I fall an eager victim to her
heady machinations and
find myself inclined to wrestle
farther still within her spell.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
sadista:
Really like the poem. 
smythe:
I'm so excited to be going back to the beach for Christmas. It wouldn't be the holidays without a walk on the beach Christmas morning.