Tendrils of fire kissed hair
sparked under the dim lights
as the solitary wolf slumbered;
dreaming of bourbon,
ambery oak coating crystal.

Her lips were summer,
her eyes a breeze,
blowing over porcelain skin
long since made fair
under the kiss of stars
and the embrace of moonlight,
where she stood
a little too grand for the night
an ethereal intensity
like some lost Sargent portrait.