Pale, filtered
Moonlight streams
Through the windows
And strokes her
Face as she sways,
Back and forth,
To the music,
Every note caressing
Her ears; little
Lovers coming
And moving on,
Making her cry.
Small rivers
Appear on her
Moonstruck cheeks,
And I want to
Reach out a hand
To wipe them
Away, but the music
And my shyness
Keep me in
My secluded spot behind
The curtains.
Her elegant figure
Continues to sway
In some entrancing
Way, a siren call,
But no man will
Meet her request.
The music is lulling
Me to sleep, and
I still see the slow
Swaying as my eyelids
Drift shut.
A trumpeting announcement
Calls my attention,
And as my eyes spring
Open, I see the girl
Is gone.
I have missed my chance.
As though she is still
There, a call beckons
Me to where she last
Stood, and I rush to
The very spot--
I take in everything:
The very moonlight
That kissed her where
I might have,
The smell of her
The panes were
Taking in where
I might have,
The cool, crystalline
Glass that caught
Her tears where
I might have.
As I stood in my
Small grievances,
I felt a small hand
On my shoulder.
I turn, and see
Her standing there
In all her glory,
Commanding my
Attention by asking
For none.
I stared at her hand,
For I could not meet
Her eyes, and
Followed the fingers
To her delicate wrist,
To the prominent elbow,
To the proud shoulder,
To the graceful neck,
To her quivering chin,
To her blossomed lips,
To her peeking nose,
To her dazzling eyes.
I made it there.
I saw they were made
Of the rarest of emeralds,
Shining beneath a brow
Of inquiry:
Who might I be?
Without words,
We understood
One another,
She related her pain
Of family and lost
Relationships,
I of heartache and
Rejection.
We stared at one
Another,
Unsure of what
To do.
Our bodies moved
Simultaneously
Towards each other,
Where our heads
Bent, our fingers
Met, and our lips
Locked in the sweetest
Of embraces to the
Tune of the
Waltz.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 4:04 AM UTC
Pale, filtered
Moonlight streams
Through the windows
And strokes her
Face as she sways,
Back and forth,
To the music,
Every note caressing
Her ears; little
Lovers coming
And moving on,
Making her cry.
Small rivers
Appear on her
Moonstruck cheeks,
And I want to
Reach out a hand
To wipe them
Away, but the music
And my shyness
Keep me in
My secluded spot behind
The curtains.
Her elegant figure
Continues to sway
In some entrancing
Way, a siren call,
But no man will
Meet her request.
The music is lulling
Me to sleep, and
I still see the slow
Swaying as my eyelids
Drift shut.
A trumpeting announcement
Calls my attention,
And as my eyes spring
Open, I see the girl
Is gone.
I have missed my chance.
As though she is still
There, a call beckons
Me to where she last
Stood, and I rush to
The very spot--
I take in everything:
The very moonlight
That kissed her where
I might have,
The smell of her
The panes were
Taking in where
I might have,
The cool, crystalline
Glass that caught
Her tears where
I might have.
As I stood in my
Small grievances,
I felt a small hand
On my shoulder.
I turn, and see
Her standing there
In all her glory,
Commanding my
Attention by asking
For none.
I stared at her hand,
For I could not meet
Her eyes, and
Followed the fingers
To her delicate wrist,
To the prominent elbow,
To the proud shoulder,
To the graceful neck,
To her quivering chin,
To her blossomed lips,
To her peeking nose,
To her dazzling eyes.
I made it there.
I saw they were made
Of the rarest of emeralds,
Shining beneath a brow
Of inquiry:
Who might I be?
Without words,
We understood
One another,
She related her pain
Of family and lost
Relationships,
I of heartache and
Rejection.
We stared at one
Another,
Unsure of what
To do.
Our bodies moved
Simultaneously
Towards each other,
Where our heads
Bent, our fingers
Met, and our lips
Locked in the sweetest
Of embraces to the
Tune of the
Waltz.
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