| She sings on an island that
cannot hear her
with an ocean who never graces
nor invites,
echoing glass tunes through the warming air
stunning and smooth in it's gypsy pallor.
Her laugh is certain like that of a devil
though cloaked in most delicate of shrouds
for sunlight breaks only beyond her steps
and night favors her eyes.
Somewhere beneath that magnetic shade
lies a sinister objective.
Lips so pure, voluptuously naive
like a night crawler fresh from prowl,
dripping crimson evidence of the latest catch.
And somehow, still
you paint her of wings reflecting ruby rays
coupled to essence, true.
No words I speak on cloud covered nights
could alter spell and heartbreak too.
|
