demonesskage

She walks in beauty like the night
Discarding her clothes in the plastic flowers
Pornographic and tragic in black and white
My Marilyn come to my slum for an hour

A solitary evening spent in celluloid brilliance, fueled by naught but liquor and loneliness. Tis cold outside and trappings of woven cloth keep my physical form from being chilled, yet do not warm the spirit. My soul is void by its absence, its glow dulled to blinking out in its lack. Only in the return of that brilliant light with the flame be reignighted. One only notices the void once the substance has taken its leave.