Ballad of the Midnight Girl

The Weaver of Starlight by Wandering Bohemian

She wakes alone, eyes wide and filled with the evening stars

Her skin capturing the glow of neon and chrome as it lay bare

All deities spying down on her as the vibe, the craving, the ardor take over her

It makes her rise slow, the threaded sheets sliding down her breasts

Like Egyptian silk slips through fingertips, like soft cerulean water over white sands

Giving view of her as she raises to heights and highs

Her bare feet touching the floor though never her heels

She walks on the balls of her feet in quick procession

Her fingertips, that know more of laying out men and women than Venus herself,

Lay out the white dress that lets her become the color of man’s desires under any light

She pulls from her closet to enter the night world.


The instrument of her seduction slides over her body and hides what,

On so many occasions, only the lucky and God herself has seen,

The skirt caressing her thighs in alluring waves to draw the attention

Of those whose eyes dare to venture so sinfully low.

Her hair like the midnight hour smells of sensations kept close

Between lips colored with desire and tongues dipped in the flavor of passion

She ties the silk of attraction around her body like coat and slips into

What is to be the percussions of her stride

Tip Tap Tip

She enters the Night World

With her heart in the glass casing of her chest for all to see

For all to hear and a basket for all the hearts this showing does capture


She collects with a Tip Tap leaving tongues to cheek

Embarrassed by such open love, open magic collected around one woman

Who only comes alive when the midnight hour wakens her to it.

With open mouth kisses and finger light touches

She captures their breaths in her chest while they in turn

Hope against all hope to steal hers away

And pulls their still beating hearts from their chests

Collecting them in her basket of heartbreak leaving a trail in her wake

Of wraiths left behind by her encounter

Dreaming wide awake of those lush lips that stole life from them


She ventures beneath the city lights

No one able to recall the color she wore

Woman in red, little black dress, lavender beauty, nymph in green

All different women in the eyes of the awestruck

Left dumb deaf and blind by the rapture

But also heartless by her whim and charm

She who has her heart encased in glass with no lock and no key

No combination for entrance and for the taking

Her basket grows heavy with the hearts enamored

And the dawn approaches creeping upon her like a guilty conscious

Ready to turn her prizes into ash and sand

One last stop along the way to lover’s stream

Watching those whose hearts are so enamored with each other

That she cannot cross o’er their stream of passion into that realm

And take what surely would be the sweetest nectar she ever tasted

The breath of one in love not in lust

And here she stands with her basket of hearts after the midnight hour

To scrutinize her reflection realizing she likes what she sees

Despite the weight of the basket on the crook of her frail arm

Because she is glad to be the ruin of any and all who dare lust after her

But her breath lays locked inside a heart under glass untouchable

And cursed like the dreaded Hope Diamond should anyone lay siege to it

She leaves this realm where hearts in love remind her she only have hearts enraptured

She leaves the Night World loving herself because no one else can

And she will not allow them to


 Midnight come and gone, the instrument of her seduction sliding off her body

Like the chaffing leather of the workman’s whip

And her feet step bare only on the balls of her feet for she can’t put them down just yet

She baths in soft waters of honesty and acceptance and the diamonds she decorated her smiles

The pearls she shined her hair with shatter to dust and sink to the bottom like castaway ashes

Of an unknown man abandoned by the world and forgotten just as quickly

As the stars fall from her eyes and dissolve in the water she becomes herself

The sunlight burning her eyes and blinding her with the Waking World

She no longer longs to be a part of.


She slips into bed with her basket of hearts and listens to the stories of each

Listening to loves lost by then knowing that not a single story is of hers

She falls asleep with the pheasant feather she lays down record upon

Clutched lightly between her fingers

The ink of a thousand woes she traded for the Night World spilled over the pages

Of her journal made of gold and parchment stained by pomegranates

Resembling drops of blood that escape from the hearts of those captured

The basket left to the rays of the waking world to turn to ash and blow away

Lifted from her presence on the wind like summer birds

Becoming evanescent so that when the night awakens her again

She will wake with no guilt and won’t remember their names

While they can never forget hers

Thus the Midnight Girl rests

Thus the Midnight Girl sleeps

Thus the Midnight Girl dreams

Thus the Midnight Girl remembers the one the name she can’t forget

Before the Night World calls to her

And her body speaks to her telling her it’s time to return

And the goddess in her cannot recall that name any longer….

-Harli V. Park- 



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