At nightfall,
Swathed in flimsy, floral reds of different shades,
Softly laughing in the glow of the flame,
She dances,
Unaware of my presence.
Or is she?
Her eyes
Are a melting pot: the fire, the stars and the shadows unite in a mystifying harmony, backdropped in the gold therein.
It's a rainbow in them, the dark kind.
Beautiful, alive...
And...
They seem to stare
At...
Me?
How...is that even possible?!
Can she see me?
It's only for a moment, though.
A breath, and those captivating eyes turn away.
Ha.
Of course she can't.
I'm one with the shadows' obscurity.
She dances on.
I ogle still, bewildered.
She, the Gypsy, thief of my heart, is difficult to distinguish from the blaze:
Bright, bejeweled, beautiful.
I'm astounded.
Astir with confusion, I gaze on
And see...fire?
The mysterious dancer?
I still can't tell....
Until I hear the soft jingle of bells,
And see her smoldering, laughing irises in front of mine,
Closer this time.
A grasp at my arm,
A frenzied tug
--She is surprisingly strong--
And I'm laughing into the cold night breeze,
Until the morning,
When she
is gone.
YOU ARE READING
The Scraps of A Song: An Anthology.
PoetryPoetry spanning topics from love to pain, to addiction, to borderline insanity, to romanticism..in a disorder so strange it becomes an order all its own... The Pieces of Her, The Scraps of A Song.
