Citrine Starlight

White lace dripping from her veins to her teeth,
Pretty words off the top, fifty meanings underneath.
With a pyrite smile; almost precious, ever fake,
And tears made of glass that on cue will always break.

Lashes frosted lilac and ash-powdered skin,
Perfumed rosen droplets with a dash of muted sin.
She’s a lady, see, with her charm and styled appeal.
And here’s where you determine what is false and what is real.

Seduction in her laugh as your eyes and hers cohere.
With the touch of a gloved hand, you are hers to puppeteer.
Wait a minute, wait a day; she’ll forget you like a child.
Wait a minute, little boy; she’s as kind as she is wild.

There’s a pseudonym for starlight, and it’s clinging to her gaze,
Like she’s clinging at your heart and you are clinging to her praise.
She’s a lady, see, with her charm so great and cold.
But her love is still fallacious, and her smile is Fool’s Gold.