She wears a red dress often,
More or less, when her mind
Carries away the sun’s kind
The cloth is simple but hangs a dazzling
Display that covers her scar tissue
Tracing back each time life’s reissue
A long yellow silk scarf trails behind
As if waving goodbye to a past day
Which her musings cannot cast away
Long black hair glistening almost blue
Under the moonlight’s calling
Her pure thoughts though are scrawling
The names of each raconteur
Whose tales she slept
And whose tails she kept
For with the morning dew
She wears only sheer - white dresses
While with death - she caresses
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