And she strung the stars

And it was the same every night.
Loneliness and the scent of leather.
Damp velvet and her forgotten lullabies.

The moon; the only beam of light
In the sad, night sky.
Pockets stuffed full of memories.
Of music notes and romance.

And she was lonely
With only the darkness to echo her voice back.
Like the moisture in caves.
Like the golden plated throat of the choir.

Every night was restless.
Spent awake and ashamed.
The taste of dawn.
The lingering ring of a glass.

And so she strung stars through the sky.
Hope and spun sugar.
The burst and spiral of dreams.