Another victim fallen to a killing moon,
With a heart to stumble, per chance, across a dream.
A setting sun that beckons, willingly;
Playing across uneven tears in the seam.
Eyes of wood that graced ever lightly,
Contouring seen beauty in manners so passive.
A mind that dwells on infinite time and space
And filled with little hate that borders on recessive.
A Roman bridge that peaks away down to
Vermillion lips sketched on skin of alabaster.
Thoughts and dreams that tread like oceans,
But much more exquisite and by far vaster.
Shocks evanescent by the darkened hues,
Highlighted in deep copper by the sun.
Tightly composed, serious in her hidden satire:
The pressure on her heartstrings slowly pulls her undone.
Delicacy finely shaped in porcelain complexity;
A broad smile with emotions that have long thinned;
Born where faith and horror both elope
To untimely end by erasure by the wind.