It’s night, and the soft satin sheen of the sky spills over me in a sombre silence. It’s late. And very, very quiet. The soft pitter-patter of feet alert me to something other than myself and my musings. I turn, and there she is. A beauty of Byronic verse personified, of cloudless climes and starry skies indeed. I gaze at her, wisps of moonlight sighing down from heaven clothe her in a silvery glow unmatched by mortal design. I know her. Very well do I remember the subtle contours of her face, the lips slightly open as if in surprise, the dark velvet hair trembling carelessly past her shoulders, and the eyes, almost tear-stained, questing and questioning for answers she’ll never find.
Feb 14 2011