Murky grey is her face,
swirling the way milk glides through coffee.
Ever so gently,
pushing past the next molecule.
The path, void of predictability:
down it plunges;
up it rises,
now skating sideways before curling upon itself.
Overhead and far from touch.
Hide and seek she plays,
one moment of celestial beauty then the next moment,
the surrounding clouds drift in soundlessly,
like a sarong,
wrapping over her opalescent curves.
What a temptress she is.
Often accompanied by smaller luminous counterparts,
Tonight she reins.
Incandescent light piercing through every tear,
Nocturnal is her dance.
Nights like this when she draws closer,
when she cozies up intimately against the cytoplasmic overcast,
leaving nothing to hide.
Yet other nights she is rapt in cycles,
Shifting, thinning, thickening
But no less mesmerising.