The magician stood center stage,
a thick, black, curly strand of hair in his hand.
He danced in circles, holding it in out front of him.
Slowly, the strand began to grow into a full head of hair,
like paint dripping down a canvas.
A face formed in the same manner,
a mournful expression shadowing the fair countenance.
As he danced, the hair became a woman
who wore a flowing gown of thick, black smoke.
And the waltz continued with a terrible beauty,
she a haunting figure and he her master.
Their movements became more frenzied.
She was powerless; she could do naught but follow him.
Until he kissed her. Then she simply melted away.
I had this dream a while ago. I couldn't forget it.