The face of this sorceress narrowed at dusk.
As freckles vanished, her skin grew milky and
eyes turned strangely firm and heavy.
The mass of phone numbers and addresses
stamped passion marks on another neck.
Sleeping around with all the predictable results
so ferociously tangled tresses.
She pulled me closer every time somebody came
upstairs teeth broke vessels in her aureole.
A sorceress delineates the subjugation
of a farmhouse porch light on Saturday nights.
Attentiveness involves more than observing.
You know nothing of the ways she reflects your art,
your garden, infidelities, and refusal to commit.
Poem copyright 2014 by Jnana Hodson
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