Enchantress

Enchantress—
Others are mesmerized by the brilliance
Of your clairvoyance
Or ensnared by the spectacle
Of your colorful spell-casting.

For me,
No grand display of sorcery
Compares with the divine artistry
That is your smile.

The smile that escapes your lips
(How instinctively, you try your
Best to conceal)
Whenever I walk by.

Those exhilarating moments
When you look up, impelled
By ravenous curiosity against
Your stoic discipline, against

Your carefully-crafted exercise
In prim self-flagellation.

Yes, when you look up
From your tomes ancient,
Your instruments sterile, and your
Artifacts dispassionate,

To meet my eyes for a
Second before lowering your
Head again the instant you
Realize I’ve caught your gaze.

Consumed for eons in your magic,
Your heart consigned to the
Solitary exploration of your esoteric arts,
You thought yourself secure—

Locked away in cold haunts,
Abandoned completely to the
Mystical, but dead to the warmth
Of human interaction.

You thought and hoped you
Wouldn’t feel this way again,
Exposing yourself to the anguish
And vulnerability of love—

Or love’s possibility.

Enchantress,
Though your eyes have beheld
A thousand dying suns
And a million fallen worlds,

Yet it is in the arms,
In the secure company of this
Mortal man, that your greatest
Wisdom is to be gained—

That your deepest lapse in experience
Is to be filled.

Flesh to flesh,
Breath to breath,
And spirit to spirit,
You discover true bliss.

A glorious delirium that persists
Far beyond the smoke and
Illusions’ dissipation.
That grows. Clutches. Inflames.

Cast away your lifeless relics.
Begone your drab idols.
Live in me this night,
And in this rapture evermore.

Luis Miguel

Luis Miguel

Writer extraordinaire.
Luis Miguel

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