The Midnight Sipper…

Upon her balcony she sits at midnight,
Where candlelight dances on stone and rail,
And with her lips she drinks the evening breeze,
As if the wind were vintage, aged and rare.

The city sleeps beneath her watchful gaze,
While moonlight spills across her silk-clad form,
She tilts her head to catch each passing gust,
And tastes of starlight in the moving air.

Her fingers trace the patterns of the night,
The darkness whispers secrets to her soul,
She sips the wind as if it were fine wine,
And lets it carry thoughts both deep and bold.

No glass she holds, no bottle by her side,
Yet she grows drunk on darkness and on dreams,
The candle flickers, caught in its own trance,
As she becomes the night's most valued theme.

When dawn approaches with its subtle hints,
She sighs and sets her empty cup of air,
Retreats inside, her spirit satisfied,
Having consumed the night without a care.