And there she sat,
The beautiful and divine,
Sipping away
At the seeping moonlight.
Mere lines against
A canvas so bright,
Oblivious to her two sides.
The sweet sound
As words escape her lips,
Like the soft patter of rain
against the moonlight.
Her movements
So graceful, so soft, so gentle,
Abiding to the very strokes of my pencil.
And so I came
Upon her face,
pitying the dark
and envying the light,
And asked of her,
Why won't you come to life?
