The wine glass gracefully twirls round
and round, and cherry maroon polished fingertips
slightly tremble with coldness, reaching up
to wipe away glassy tears from frosty lashes
cool winds drift in from tall windows left ajar,
gently cradling a long mane of black, shimmering hair

in the white full moon's silver light and
the star's distant twinkles, there is a penetrating,
mournful howl of a lone wolf in the distance
and drops of cooled, flowing tears sinking to
the bottom of the crystal gray lake,
a silent plea for the being in the empty night of darkness
to arrive,

I float on top of my plush, pale violet colored armchair
a lovely book, Wuthering Heights, placed face down
on my lap, a cigar tray with rich, lush scents and
opal colors shining in the lamplight,
but no cigars to be found
the silver clock humbly reaches midnight over
an eternity of jaded, silent emptiness coated over the
stillness of cold air in the spacious room

I sit here, gazing out towards the
winding valleys, feeling a dazed, small tingling sensation
of stifling envy towards the soft, yellow twinkling lights
in the distance,

the old wooden houses huddled together in times of life,
perhaps in that small, soft, cozy village of warmth,
someone is leaning on their windowsill, gazing
at the lone silver-black mansion sleeping atop
a stooping mountain in the distance, pondering
about the very lonely, tear struck, silent person....

pondering about me....

oh, it seems no matter what I do,
I am misunderstood and judged by my flaws,
condemned as if I don't possess a heart,
I am left feeling dazed with a cold emptiness
settled around my chest, maroon painted fingernails
and wine are more beautiful than blood,

*I crave not just a set of arms to last,
but a moment of understanding,
an enlightened place of belonging,
and a warm place to call home.