Enchantment

he watches through the magic glass
the witch combing her hair
the wooden tines sliding through the silken mass
each long stroke followed
by her shapely pale hand smoothing
stroke, slide, stroke, slide
he cannot look away
hypnotized by the sensual grace of the ritual
by the exquisite riches beyond his reach

she knows he is there
she knows he watches her
she knows and it pleases her deep and devious mind
she does not change her pattern
or create more of a show
but she knows, oh she knows

firelight gleams behind her,
moonlights sheen on her face
her shoulders bare to his bespelled gaze
and she combs and strokes slowly
till the hair lies smooth,
waves and curls of honeyed gold
over skin warm and waxen pale

he cannot see it yet
has never felt all that he dreams of darkly
:his hands in her hair buried
her face below his, luminous and soft
her scent pervading
entrapping his senses
the petalled softness of her skin
and the golden silken slide of her hair
in disarray over the wine-dark pillow

she knows he dreams
she knows he rides wish-horses wild
and smiles her triumph over his heart and soul
even as she lies down upon her darkly golden bed
wrapped round in wards and circles of protection
and draws the spidersilks close
she knows, but as she veils her eyes to sleep
she smiles small and sweet, and

he sees
that she knows
and more...
that she dreams too.