As the ripe of night passes by
he lays on his back and looks to the sky.
His eyes, shivering, turn to her face;
Covering her gently, fixing his gaze.
Staring back in the broad open he thinks
of how this creature came to be next to him.
He runs his fingers from her thigh to cheek
and he counts all the stars reflected in her pale, ivory-hued skin.
A cascade of raven black curls rain down her neck,
they wildly gallop across her slender white back.
Contrary, and just as the Sun rays in darkness alone;
Her photo-negative palette, a universe of its own.
She's a creation delicate, painted in colors opposite to the night;
She almost seems like she'd been chosen to be,
long before the stars gave birth to their light.

As dawn comes by,
even before sunrise, she lights up the sky.
He has never seen something so beautiful,
as that slow waking, oh her eyes!
No other sight in this world could feed his gaze
like that half-woken confused look, oh her milky face!
Her body rustling, her arms tingling, a voice silken,
she tries to speak - husky and brittle, oh her crimson lips!
And as she whispered, still slightly in her dreams,
he silently chuckled and praised all,
all that stardust since the birth of time,
for gathering for but a moment, into life,
for gathering into something so rare,
so rare, this girl and her wild untamed hair.