She was like the night.
Her body was a canvas,
Of blue and silver hues,
The blue consuming bruises,
With whose existence only she knew.
The silver soft lines,
Framing her hips and arms,
Her soul had outgrown her body,
Wanting escape it took a chance.
She rose despite the pain,
Only again to fall,
For even though beauty is admired,
It is not in the eyes of all.
Gold hair and flushed cheeks has its insecurities,
Attention her prerogative and design.
But when her eyes caught sight of night,
She shoved her down,
Reclaiming her reign.
But night and I tango often,
Ignoring the slurs and the smite.
And as I hold her I see those starlit eyes,
Those marks of silver and blue,
As we dance we forget all past,
Present,
And possible,
Its just me in the arms of night.
