The Lady

Dainty white stockings, stretched over daring feet
That have danced all night,
And now lie discarded with poise at her side.
Like a queen of old, with her large white ruff,
She surveys the day with weary understanding.
Legs akimbo, she stretches out across the pillow,
Spine arching, head tilting back;
Perfectly motionless then coming to life,
Like a statuette in a twilight garden,
Shifting into comfort.

Her belly is bared upon the fabric,
And she recalls the time that it was filled
With promise, with future.
Empty, now, like a vase raped of all its blooms;
Hollowed out, as a Jack O' Lantern -
She can be just as terrifying.
Oh, but do not fret, my darling, They told her,
You will grow fat and old, but at least you will be alone,
Where no one can see you.

Her black Venetian mask conceals the face of Nefertiti;
Her shapely eyes are locked shut after the night's adventure.
She can see all. She has seen too much.
Melanoid mantle ruffles like raven's wings,
Like a suit of sooty armor, rivets sliding over one another,
Mechanically as she shifts.
And yet, there is nothing so organic, so serene,
As she pours herself over the edge of the bed:
The night is calling.

Black stockings under an ebony gown.
Her hips swing like a pendulum,
As she absconds the comfort of the room
To where the moon hangs silver jewels around the necks of trees.
She is at one with the ripples in the air, the patterns of the night.
Hunger paws at her insides,
And sharp fingers shred her evening gloves.
A torrent of rubies comes up fast, flesh in her mouth -
It never saw her coming.
Sated, for now, she slinks away into the arms of the undergrowth.
Alone,
Ending lives in the dark.