Her Name is Maria


There is a girl who walks in and she owns the night.
Dressed in black.
Her skin is fair and Latin,
And her dress fits her tight.
Her name is Maria.

I see the fire flicker deep within the autumn of her eyes.
Her lips are red and warm,
Like a rose in dim lamplight,
Like a beacon for travelers in the starlit night,
Soft, still, young and standing alone.
Her name is Maria.

Was she some beaten down royal?
Lost legend? A fallen angel?
Sometimes her face is hidden behind long brown hair.
Where will she go? She a girl without a home?
Off she will stare, a look of the most delicate care.

So tender is the night, sweet Maria.
We met once before, in a breath, I do remember.

Is it you or I who goes from here?
What meaning brought you to me?
This quiet meeting in the great tempest of the black sea.

Once we were children. We return as pilgrims.
And all I hear is the rain, distant when I hold you.
So before we walk into the rising day,
And meet what lie in the crashing waves,
Allow this hour to breathe in the mist.
I’ll hold you close for one final kiss, sweet Maria.
We’ll steal a kiss, sweet Maria.

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