She still remembers that abstruse eve,

Underneath those satanic stars,

Crimson wounds and cloud-grey ties;

Chocolate waves and ocean-blue scars,

Would that song be etched on his skin,

Like Latin quotes in a poet's draft,

The rosy blush on the rims of the sky;

Had it with care ; torn him apart,

Would Orion bear witness again?

Of the secretsheld in midnight hours,

Do writers ever account the romance?

In tainted threads of her stitched palms,

The deception under the milky moon,

The whispers of his muted heart,

Forever sober on the drunk melody;

Of de Lune's chords - cinnamon laughs,

Twirling around like silk in the night,

The dewy glow of her sin-soaked dress,

Like a hopeless wish on a shooting star;

Dancing steps ; fate's mismatched mess,

Drenched in lies with a silver of regret,

They danced sad to the crown's vice,

Sapphire rings and moon kissed vows;

Heartbeats numb to all-knowing eyes,

The scarlets that he traced in her smile,

The masked deciphered in his voice,

Such a tragedy to choose for oneself;

A vintage dance to dance to hell.