Written by Leah Jane
Picked up by a limo as black as the night; the driver gets out as soon as I move into sight.
Im shaking with nerves a huge grin on my face; I move forward slowly adjusting my pace.
The driver sees my expression and smiles a smile and takes my hand in a dramatic style and he nods to me as if to say get in the car so we can be on our way.
He opens the door and who greets me there? But a handsome young man with raven black hair.
We sit in there and laugh about things that have gone by; I cant help but think all this is a lie, some sort of tale or maybe a play, there are so many things I’m wanting to say.
His eyes are so blue, so big and so wise; I can’t help but stair at those beautiful eyes.
His voice is like hot honey so husky yet smooth, its amazing what the right voice can do to you
As the champagne flows and the music blares, I’m enchanted by the man with raven black hair.
We halt to a stop, we get out the car. A grand hotel with more than one bar
The dining room is beautiful in golds and blacks, the candles flicker with the melting wax.
Chandeliers above us sparkle and shine, meanwhile he orders a bottle of wine.
He pours me a glass with that cheeky grin. Now I’m ready for the night to begin.
There are so many wonders I can’t help but stare especially at the man with raven black hair.
As we sit there and devour our three course meal, I still cant believe all this is real.
We sit there for ages after we dine, he raises his hand to acquire more wine.
I subtly suggest I’ve had enough, he looks and he laughs at me calling my bluff.
The band starts up then he slowly stands, bowing deeply, offers his hand.
As we move together, he dances with care, this gentle, sweet man with raven black hair.
As time wears on I’m starting to feel tired but his persistence to dance should be admired.
I cant help but laugh when I see him dance but he shoots me down with a single glance.
He looks at his watch and decides it’s time, we collect our things as big ben chimes.
We climb into the car a little bit merry, but he quickly pours me a slip of sherry.
I raise my glass with a drunken flair. “To the man,” I say, “with raven black hair,”
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