She, of the Pale Stars

This first line was something I had wanted to write around, so after keeping it in my back pocket for a while, I churned this piece out this morning. I could have done better, probably, but I’m not feeling so hot physically or mentally, so anything will do:

She was a glass of wine dressed in sunset
The kind of eyes it took
A cold shower to wake from and
A drink to forget
The shadows fell long from her
Winding, twisting
Insisting every secret I had be traded
For a whiff of her incense hair
For a glimpse of the smokey way she moved
She was autumn colors, but I took the fall
The dream ended in ripples across the pond and
She left me dead in my sleep

My friend, Halia Janssen, took the same line and wrote this superior piece, which I will share to make up for my own half-assing it:

She was a glass of wine dressed in sunset,
A silhouette bathed in light of the crescent moon.
She was the echo in my turbulent midnight dreams
Wandering the pangs of our reverie
Hiding in shadow, intangible to say the least
She is my heart, my laughter
Forever out of reach.

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