She stood
wrapped in sheets of silk,
layers of burgundy
and sangria
tumbling delicately
to the floor.

Her hair cascaded in
long honey-and-sunshine
waves; lips pink and
eyes the color of
shamrocks, flecked
with gold.

"Yes, you are magnificent –
a true vision," they began.
"But, don't you know?
A war zone is no
place for such
brilliance."

(One of the saddest truths:
bombs and ball gowns
are quite the contradiction.)