We met at the chambers
at the chambers, at the chambers,
where crystal holds fire,
where golden drink forgets the hour.
We spoke in riddles,
we spoke in circles,
of law and of madness,
of prophecy dressed as love.
We agreed not to agree,
we agreed not to agree,
and our pride rose high,
like twin banners in the hush of night.
Wine loosened the floor,
wine loosened the floor,
and tipsy, tipsy,
we danced as if bound by a spell.
Then your voice became flame,
flame upon flame,
and you begged me
touch, touch,
turn the secret page,
scroll the hidden script of your soul.
I answered, Madam,
listen, listen,
I am the witch’s son.
My sins are shadows,
only shadows,
that breathe against your spirit,
that whisper, whisper,
to awaken your fire.
They rise, they kindle,
they bend you toward blaze,
and when your heart burns too brightly,
I quench, I quench
as the blacksmith quenches steel
in the midnight water.
So I am done,
done, done.
And you
undone,
undone,
forever in the spell.
I said, "See you next time."
And the next time came.
She sat far away
with a drink in her hand.
"I hate cheese," she said.
