Under His Spell (or I am Sure He Was a Sorcerer)

I saw him fly once
up a steep flight of stairs.
I tried to outrun him
(but wasn’t too scared).

Watched him drive blind
down a street’s wrong side —
from a kiss no less.
(I was there for the ride.)

He disappeared like ghosts.
Gone for weeks, not days.
He drove into a tree once,
walked away unscathed.

He’s cheated death and watched death
and wrestled it in the street,
he’s had past lives and nine lives,
and one I’ll never meet.

His devil’s smile and demon laugh
they melted me every time.
Telepath, empath —
I swear he read my mind.

He foretold our future
in such hypnotic prose,
then all of it came true.
(or mostly, I suppose).

He was impulse, reactive
conniving, and wild,
charming, seductive,
I was broken, beguiled —

Because I ate all his lies
(and fed all his fears).
My heart craved his magic,
But his voodoo stole years.

Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. Image: Tamara and Demon, Mikhail Vrubel.