Unable to bear the falsehoods -
the girls calling up
each time you came
to my bed -
I fled
And now I dream of you
Knowing you are
dreaming of me,
knowing we will always be
each other's muse, forbidden lover,
witch and warlock
joined by a filament of flesh,
lover through the looking glass.
I dream of you
as the witch
beside her husband's hearth
dreams of the grandmaster
of the coven,
dreams of burning stones
that sting the flesh,
while her good husband
strokes her rump,
muttering words
of tame domestic love.
You are my demon,
the devil in my flesh,
the wild child,
the boy with eyes of flame,
the bad seed I took
into my body,
that infected needle
I craved
more deeply
than health.
On every seashore
I see you waving your arms
out of the whitecaps
as you drown
only to be reborn
in the foam
between my legs.
In every bed
you appear, sexual dybbuk,
mocking my lovers
with your twinkling blue eyes,
and the crooked cane of your cock
smelling of the pit.
You are trouble, double trouble,
triple trouble,
the wrecker of peace,
but you make
my cauldron boil.
I dream of you always
as I lie
in the sheltering arms
of another.
I dream of you
as the condemned witch
dreams of her end
at the stake,
when, lashed to the burning pole,
she will offer up her flesh
to become smoke,
her hair to become ash,
her soul to be carried away
on the wings of the air,
marrying, marrying, marrying
the final fire.
the girls calling up
each time you came
to my bed -
I fled
And now I dream of you
Knowing you are
dreaming of me,
knowing we will always be
each other's muse, forbidden lover,
witch and warlock
joined by a filament of flesh,
lover through the looking glass.
I dream of you
as the witch
beside her husband's hearth
dreams of the grandmaster
of the coven,
dreams of burning stones
that sting the flesh,
while her good husband
strokes her rump,
muttering words
of tame domestic love.
You are my demon,
the devil in my flesh,
the wild child,
the boy with eyes of flame,
the bad seed I took
into my body,
that infected needle
I craved
more deeply
than health.
On every seashore
I see you waving your arms
out of the whitecaps
as you drown
only to be reborn
in the foam
between my legs.
In every bed
you appear, sexual dybbuk,
mocking my lovers
with your twinkling blue eyes,
and the crooked cane of your cock
smelling of the pit.
You are trouble, double trouble,
triple trouble,
the wrecker of peace,
but you make
my cauldron boil.
I dream of you always
as I lie
in the sheltering arms
of another.
I dream of you
as the condemned witch
dreams of her end
at the stake,
when, lashed to the burning pole,
she will offer up her flesh
to become smoke,
her hair to become ash,
her soul to be carried away
on the wings of the air,
marrying, marrying, marrying
the final fire.