She dances like candle light in the darkened chamber of my inner mind, swirling flesh and dusty lace. Barefoot and smiling. Her eyes are dreams I can no longer sing, her lips are music I see in night when the moon is cloaked and shrouded.
She's beautiful and plain. Excessive and simple and she plays within me in like paradox - ever drifting, ever coming. She brings me to drink but I am insatiable.
I wear years on my skin, sun soaked and profitless. I love bitterness and envy more than happiness. She is love I can only want. I walk without blood - or by blood alone.
But after all the hours, I can feel the movement, I can hear the whisper. I can see the champagne curves.
They're always there.