Early morning, late one night.
A sleepless soul heard a knock on his door.
The sky was dark, too dark to hide,
And her porcelain skin shined through.
Her tired red eyes spoke of distress,
Her smile spoke of secrets he longed to know,
From a transitory trance, as he did egress,
In her wake, his presence aglow.
The thunder of the clouds, the magnificent sky,
Her soaking black dress, mimicking the midnight blue,
The lightning bolts, and their reflections in her eyes.
The slight shiver in her voice made her words hard to construe
A place to stay, just for a while,
For the storm to pass, for the sky to clear.
He thought for a second, then wondered why.
He smiled at her, you can stay here.
The music of the rain drops filled the silence,
As he stepped aside to let her in.
The empty foyer filled with her being, her essence.
Politely smiling, as she walked in.
The light murmur in the hall halted for none,
But she was different, always had been
The instruments continued to strum,
All eyes turned to her, beauty right out of a dream.
The gathering of the finest kind,
It was like it had been waiting just for her,
In every conversation, drinks did, a way, find.
Introductions, way more than one can endure.
The windows were opened by one of the guests,
Cold shivers ran through one and all.
The laughs were now a little less repressed.
Dancing, loving, people fell like cannonballs.
She talked to some, observed more,
The chandelier kept catching her eye.
She stood beneath it, stared and adored.
And barely noticed the time flying by.
With a heavily pounding heart,
Up to her he walked.
Fixated at the chandeliers from the start.
He knew she wouldn't shy from a talk,
And she didn't, she smiled sociably.
And talked about the winsomeness of the world.
He ached to tell her of her own beauty,
But somehow knew she would've already known.
They talked well into the night,
His graceful guest and he,
From things he'd earlier shied,
He found no reason to be.
There was something about her,
Something he needed to care for,
A sadness as cold as champagne glasses were.
As unlike the warm smile that she wore.
Away from the prying eyes,
With strawberries, and rim-filled glasses;
Divulged under the roaring skies,
Watched the storm as it passes.
As he awoke,
To find the sun shining in his eyes.
Alone, under the Oak.
He wasn't surprised.
The enigma that she was, she is,
Unsolved, unattainable.
He didn't remember if it was real, the kiss.
But the reminiscence was inexplicable.
He looked at his chandelier,
And mused, and smiled, and left.
Again, he knew, he'd never see her,
But of her being it'd never be bereft.
No love lost, no one found.
A moonstruck moment in a momentous night.
Some mystifying company, a lonesome crowd.
Oh what dreams realities incite.
