Beauty like the ocean, below the blood red moon, on a way beyond cold January evening. Her hair fallen upon her shoulders, leading down her neck and resting on her back. As she sits on her bed thinking about a book of love, written by a friend of hers from another century, in her mind she sees him and wishes him well. White sheets surround her, draped upon her, while the light from the window causes a glow to rupture through the darkness and brings on another thought about another life she has lived.

Danielle was her lover for some time. She used to love to paint her from a short distance, coloring the life inside of her eyes.

She said she was a poet, she said she was an actress, she said she was a painter and it was all the truth.

Frances was her best friend and they slept together through her late 20’s. He taught her about whiskey and she taught him about tears. He swore he saw his future within her eyes, she shrugged and said it was all just another lie. Brought on by fate, faith and prayers from his lips and tears from his eyes.

Tara swore a temporary affection, Henry simply danced. Thomas drank his way through her door and Harry learned to sing. Betty wandered into her room then simply wandered out. Douglas tap danced outside her window, while Cyrano whispered some lines. Marlon acted tough and strong only to cry in the dark. Mary promised to stand by her side, while the way rushed on through.

A list of lovers, a litany of excuses. Forgiven each time for the beauty…

Below the blood red moon, yellow doors slamming shut and pebbles thrown against the windows of her room.

Can one ever truly understand your desire or true love?

Oh but the long of her back as she sat upon the bed, the sheets at her side and her hair fallen down…

What is love? Is it lust disguised or is it a feeling of resignation towards emotional rollercoaster tours?

No more, no more, no more dark rooms and smoke stained clothing.

No more, no more, hypnotic perfumes pulling me towards a majestic Vista of skin and feminine beautiful absurdity.

A view through a window, she is sitting alone upon a bed, with white sheets and her hair is fallen upon her shoulders…

Oh well…