The silk falls iridescently,

reflecting dewdrops in her eyes.

She holds out her wrists in vain,

weary of the world so called alive.

If only dew drops weren’t so white,

they make the blood fall in scorn.

If only dreadlocks were so long,

they catch he morbid and forlorn.

Sinking in her lovers arms,

she has fallen from the sky.

Plucking hopefuls from the fray,

she seeks questions that do not lie.

If only flight could be delayed,

Perhaps she could love one time at last.

Before the failure of the stars,

traps her starlight in the past.