A gown, like none other will ever be made.
A woman, like none he's met before.
A view, that from memory will never fade.
A garden, just beyond the glass door.
The mask only sublimes her eyes,
And the way she bites her carmine lips.
He can't stop looking, although it isn't wise,
And savors the view, more than the drink he sips.
No longer patient, he rises from his seat,
And joins her, asking for her name.
But giving it away would be no small feat,
And nothing would then be the same.
The masks are worn for a reason,
The mystery fuels the summer night's magic.
Revealing herself would be close to treason,
And the outcome would be beyond tragic.
So, in the light of a thousand candles,
They dance like the others and make small talk,
Anonymous, shrouded in diamonds and mantles,
Until she asks if he will join her for a walk.
Elusive, like a sweet summer mirage,
Like a cloud of intoxicating perfume,
She leaves the room, losing her corsage,
And he follows her scent's plume.
Under the light of a thousand stars,
In waves of marbled blue velvet and black gossamer,
She disappears, her steps marking him like scars,
Leaving him shivering, despite the warmth of summer.
In the gardens, by the parterre of roses,
The only proof of her presence is left.
A delicate black lace shoe here composes,
The sole witness of his heart's theft.