Cliche

White dress, red pumps-1950's wonderful.  And then she, that perfect old fashioned girl, will simper and tease and dance the night away.  Kicking off shoes and waltzing on tip-toes with brushed kisses and laughter and a curl caught at the corner of her mouth.  Later it is blue-black and hands are squeezing, eyes searching.  Cold outside, but she lingers in the night air and he stands beside her, her head tucked neatly into his arms.  Somehow the world is awfully, horribly perfect.

Later again and the night is a dream.  In the half-reality, she is perfectly wonderfully happy-something never achieved in everyday humdrum.  And the dream turns from black to grey again, and softly they re-enter the world of the living.  And through the day blue-black shadows will creep, unexpectedly interrupting formalities and ordinary business. 

Now, it's raining.  Somewhere the old fashioned girl is smiling still, and shadows are creeping, and happiness is possible.  And here, perfect wonderful rain to lull me to sleep.