i am talking about her, dressed in black silhouette, painted with montage,
i can feel her presence, rubbing across the tips of my tongue, salsa through my hair.
her jet black soul piercing into me, a rembrandt only time is seduced to.
i am talking about her, noir necklace, twelve beads, wild heart, fantasy that teases my seclusion.
i am talking about midnight, her winds  her flair, her grotesque, everytime i close my balcony door,
at 1am in the morning hoping the seduction ends and reality sets in on this papercup life.