• Night air could cool a witch's tits into making their debut
    through her traveling cloak if it's chilly enough—
    They'd be pointier than her hat
    Perched on her wispy hair whipping in the wind
    As she turns back into her cottage to cuddle with her cat instead,
    but you see spidery black eyelashes and a rack to rival Pam's,
    (and this is how you even check out the figments
    of my overactive imagination).

    You don't have to disappear into a night like this—I still need you
    to wrap around me like a transparent gray veil of smoke
    wafting as if from a cauldron and curling its tail
    around my shoulders, still naked from their last encounter with
    your lips.
    Your hips are still cradled behind mine
    And you're holding me like your favorite secret
    In the palm of your hands, a tiny, firm diamond that
    Everyone else thought was dirt.

    You saw through that and I may be a non-smoker,
    but I'd gladly choke on a pack a day of you.

    To ask me to cut back would be like asking me to cut back
    On breathing; without you I'd suffocate (myself).
    They could put me on a machine that regulates that kind of thing,
    But oxygen in a tube is nothing like oxygen at the peak
    Of a mountain that was well worth climbing with you
    before my favorite pastime became you cancerous.
    Looking at the pine trees dancing to
    The music of the wind on the summit,
    (though nothing compared to the joy of
    my hand in yours),
    I'd happily admit, it was worth it,
    (even though I'm scared of heights.
    I'm more scared of giving you another reason
    Not to love me).