The Witch's Breath and Brew

THE WITCH'S BREATH AND BREW She brought the lunar spell, at midnight's glow, upon herself to rid the love she felt; in all her grief, she wanted him to know she didn't care, although he'd seen her melt; he'd taken his desire, all he could want unmeasured love that flowed as free as sin, all fresh and cool as any mountain font, until her soul was drained and stretched too thin; unshackled from her past and in a daze, she yielded to his hand that searched her out, well knowing of his vile and vagrant ways, but hungering for what he was about; unmercifully his enigmatic style brought to her mind the reasons life can smile; how she did love his probing fingertips, to places never known by anyone, the violence in his sealing of her lips that stopped the heart her life depended on; but what she gave was more than he could bear, and his own heart gave in to death's embrace just as the coming of his soul was there he died, and with a smile upon his face. Right then she knew, he'd always plague her mind unless the gods would rid his memory; and though she'd search, she knew she'd never find another man that made her love as he. And so the lunar madness her soul breathed was brought on by the spell of love bequeathed.