The Woman in Black

Blonde hair neatly tucked behind an ear,
Sunglasses perched atop her head,
Tall, elegant, lines of simplicity,
My inclination is to glance, and glance again.
I close my eyes and sigh,
For it is rude to stare,
And paint a portait in my head.
I construct her lines and smile,
From fragments of snatched glances,
A memory game, building phantoms,
From light across the room.
No words are exchanged with ghosts,
And I ponder; this picture in my mind,
Is it any more real,
Than the woman in black?
As she turns and walked away,
Receding from my world,
And fading in my heart.