The Witch Has One
Black and gold with seven threads
running clockwise
through our heads
I was you and you were me
until a quarter after three
then she turned your face around
and let you see your feet were bound
tied with ribbons to my hands
{had I ever made demands?}
we shared every single thing
the silver moon in early spring,
my old guitar and your bassoon
and every single nightbird's tune
but she regretted every sigh
that passed between us,you and I
I only wished to have you near
I never touched you,did I dear?
but jealousy,the ugly witch
untied the threads,yes every stitch.
now eye can't see you for the sun,
the ribbons fall, the witch has one.
|