Night Iris

Wuthering sole, a wandering soul,

As the sun drizzles and dissolves beyond the mounts,

And the moon cautiously hovers over her,

In the humming of a peculiar sound.

A gasp is stolen among the stars,

A whisper exchanged amidst the night,

The dew of nightfall rolls on her skin,

As she, blooms into a night iris of sin.

She veils her shades of amethyst,

And unfurls in the midst of a silver hue,

She bathes in shine of starlight,

Glistens from lustre of a melancholic moon.

With lust for the night she breaks her stereotype,

Caressing her solitude in a soul of bravery,

She dwells in her pride of liberty, choice and chance,

She blooms in illumination of ebony not ivory.