The woman in black stood in her raven hair, red lips shining, her large black purse, black glasses and boots. The woman in black waited thirty seven minutes knowing not what for, never smiling, only staring. The woman in black stood silent by the dead flowers this day after the Hunter’s Moon. The woman in black apathetic to a passing world in clear blue noon sun passing between Uranus and time. The woman on black cried no lonely regretful tear or sad memoir drama no one would write. The woman in black walked into a black Venus night when the moon refused to shine, disappearing into silence. The woman in black pervades my mind troubled now forever, and I fell in love with her, and I disappeared with her into that black silence.