Woman, Witch

"Raven hair and ruby lips, sparks fly from her fingertips.
Echoed voices in the night, she's a restless spirit on an endless flight."
                                                       - The Eagles, Witchy Woman, 1976 -

Moonlight pale skin.
Long, tangled black hair.
Flowing clothes, flashes of silver.
Dark eyes looking into you,
knowing you, and all your secrets.

Considering you for...what?
For a new passion?
A fellow traveler?
A dalliance?  An amusement?
Or a shelter of warm arms, a sage interlude?

The challenge is there.
Take it, if you are man enough.
You know there is a price;
the fire can't be quenched,
It will always burn     and burn.

And that is why they were burned?
In fearful Salem, or in Catholic Spain.
The dark eyes leave a hunger,
it hurts, it consumes,
and sleep is stolen, never to be returned.

So the night becomes yours,
long after she is gone.
To watch the dark, to wait,
to thirst in body and,
in that soul you'd gladly trade.

Give eternity away,
for the touch of those pale hands.
And the lips that are never still.
The fire that burns in porcelain limbs.
Brother, I know,     I wait,     and I tremble.

(c)Jim Meehan

published in Skipping Stones 2005

and in Ripples

Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA