She was a creature of the night. Her eyes were wild and filled with wonders, like a clear night with the stars dancing above. She reverend love and love did not reverend her. She had descended into a melancholy of beget and folly. She loved the posies and the smiling man. He spoke the language of love and he made her want to play the game of truth or dare. She didn’t know, we cannot outlive our past. She would find her endearing love and she would ask him? Can you catch a falling leave? Can we create new story and tale where I can win? She bestowed her love with whiskey kisses and the taste of cigarettes. Her elixir of charm, danger and her beauty. She made the poet brave.
He told her often. Maybe was the whiskey, maybe it is the demand and hunger in your eyes? I can see a million stars in your eyes. Maybe the songs are too good? You make me want to know crazy.
She loved his face, his laughter that made her feel beautiful again. She loved how he looked at her. Made her feel good, hopeful and wanted. He listen to her song and he made feel special. She weaved a story of a impossibility and they found hidden motels and secret flings. Now only remembered in the poet’s poetry.
She died alone out-west. Few cried tears for her when she descended from her self-made hell. The poet remember a flower who loved lace and silk. She went slowly into night without a goodbye to anyone. She was lily who could not accept the storms of life. The poet wrote to paper. I remember you beautiful Cheryl and I pray your curious eyes and beautiful mind found a safe place where are happy.