The lady wore black

A strange pendant hung from her neck, symbolizing a secret society perhaps. The sea breeze gushed across her face, streaking her hair across her forehead. She sat by the amber lamp, that lit up her mysteriously attractive face. She held in her hand a magic wand, the mighty pen with which she churned magic. The fluttering pages resembled the wings of a dove, unacquainted with the voodoo they were undergoing as she wrote all over them.
And then she rolled a joint, and dragged the white smoke in. The smoke in the foreground faded her face in the backdrop. Her dangles swung in to and fro motion, casting a hypnotic spell upon me. Her facial contours transformed gradually, spanning a spectrum of emotions, as she wrote on, perhaps following the storyline. At times, she gazed into the oblivion, groping within her mind, for the germ of creativity. Her eyes were like shiny black marbles, making her gaze ever so penetrating. She was like the sea, calm outwardly and violent within. She looked at me occasionally, as I wrote these words to her. What better inspiration could have I asked for.