There, she sits like a queen,

atop a crimson morning lily,

harnessed by dragon flies’ wings,

laughing so shrilly.

Only the height of a spool,

but grasping unfathomable power.

She carries it with her in a pouch

made of woven strand of grass,

and with it, upon your skin she will crouch,

And a magical spell she will cast.

You will find yourself at mercy

of passion, love and desire.

A guilty pleasure unworthy

for even the most dignified squire.

Then she will laugh and laugh.

You are the puppet of her show,

and her evil craft,

will begin to take its toll.

Your blood will leak,

your heart will die,

your brain will seep,

and you eyes will cry.

In your vulnerable state

she will come again,

letting her magic maneuver your fate,

and your painful love will begin again.