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.