In the darkness of the alley she passes me.
Her dress envelops her in a tight embrace
A sombre wash of charcoal enlivened by
A splash of lavender lilies on her left shoulder.
Her hips sway as she walks away.
She is that gilded lily trapped in
The shadows of her own soul.
I cannot touch her for fear
That she’ll wilt like a fragile flower.
That era is long gone
But the scent of her perfume lingers.