Bare Willow Witch

It started small, as the roots spread from tree to tree
Willows watched the magic as their branches, too, felt a need
Flying high, riding a wicked wind, the clouds blackened by choice of region
Lightning casting voice of thunder, smashing rooted wood with force.

She was naked, as bare as the lightning-struck bark
Her breasts as rough as pine cones, her thighs like vines of a rose, but in her voice…
In a voice sounding so hollow, this cave of evil sounded reed to tremble mortal soul
Yet lips of red, such seduction, for this she used her voice.

Not far from being a boy, a man strode, high-chinned with ruddy cheek, owner of his world
For what he sought? We know lust and love, as this is what all men seek
To watch his young legs carry such strength, such will, the willows watched and trembled
Knowing of certain things.

The wind rode the sky even harder, as if demon horses whipped, hoofed claps of thunder,
black versus white, even rocks bedded deep trembled, all wildlife with life, their bodies to flee.
It was her voice rising in pitch higher than any opera queen, this causing the willows to shriek.

Leaves ripped like rice paper, twirling vortex of green to mix with freed dirt, to fly, to glance
A young man’s face embraced.

His steps started to falter, it seemed his strength was starting to fade, and yet his will, his damn will,
the will to proceed.

In between a flash of white, where all can be momentarily seen, his eyes saw what he came to see.
Her hideous body so natural and strange; vined thigh in spiral spread; voluptuous lips to tempt,
but voice? Her voice was the voice of pure sin.

Such beckoning force even the jagged lightning bent.
It drew a picture of such attraction it even sucked this picture in.
This man saw, he heard, his will answered her call.

With new gained strength and throbbing choice, legs carried a body past any return
Into her branched arms, his legs now entwined in thorns
he bent his lips closer, his eyes open, his soul now closed.

Together now and all – wind, storm, song, and scream, this young man was now hers.
Hers to add to others, others to grow roots and spread.
She was the naked Witch of the Willows, collector of men and soul

For in her song, her embrace, she grew her forest, an eternal grove of lost lust and love
Finding her own personal pleasures; tempting those strong of will
and to enslave a forest: this world of men.

Find more by Robin B. Lipinski in the Author Index.

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