Getting Booty-Called by a Witch: A Sonnet

She only hits me up on the full moon,

or if I’m lucky, a few days before

She casts all the right spells. She has me swoon.

She’s a ghost after, not witch anymore

Who knows what she does with time in between

Dealing with the devil. Shape of a cat

She turns back to a freak, come Halloween

The kinkiest things: nose wart, pointy hat

Sends a crow to say she’ll be right over

In my candle-filled room, her eyes pitch black

Her kiss, stone, with a curious odor

I’m hexed for life, pentagram on my back

She’ll return soon, for the treat and the trick

Then before I know it she’s gone by broomstick