Through the graves a ghost -
steps softly as a shadow,
thoughts quietly engrossed,
thoughts no one can foreshadow.
Gracefully so thin and fragile,
her body filled with lust,
the mind secretly agile,
sings like angel dust.
Snow white her milky skin,
velvet of pale perfection,
her beauty's never been
joined to any collection.
Walking in a dress of black foam,
lace and silk in great details,
black reigns in her inner home,
so dark that your mind sails.
Slowly moving her hair,
light ethereal cotton,
only the indolent air
curls the lonely forgotten.
Such mystery around her,
a world enigmatic and dark,
no one tries to reveal the blur,
to see the unseen spark.
