Wine had bloodied your lips and tongue, when you whispered your tale of how young witches used to ride married men through the sky on a night like this. The stars were like lit candles that had wandered off on their own, and the misty woods were full nightgowns. It seemed only yesterday old scratch tucked us into a bed of dead leaves.
Charles Simic, Wonders Of The Invisible World (via rabbitinthemoon)