by a solitary pale puce light
a strange amalgam of black and red passion
dimming away the hopes of the ladies strewn
across velvet sofas demurely
like rose petals scattered there by the fates
she was possessed by waves of jet black hair
and it fell across her person in roulades
outlining her delicate curves
shapely in the dusk
he took her tiny hands and he held them close
like a secret between lovers tremble
or a widow holds a guidebook to the past
Flynnpoetry 