She lay upon the leather sofa
In the middle of her beloved library.
Though she was slumped over the edge,
A smile of contentment still lingered
On her ringlet-framed face.
Her bare feet rested against the arm
And her ankles were hidden amongst
Three layers of an angelic white negligee.
The silk blended with her skin against
The chocolate surface of the couch.
Her eyelids concealed a pair of
Hopeful blue eyes, stories untold.
An empty wine glass was laid to rest
In one palm, traces of gray powder
Still lay, clinging to the bottom.
In the other hand--a note,
Settled loosely between two fingers
Edges frayed, swaying with the gentlest
Breeze from the open window.
In splattered black ink:
"Here's to dreaming."
Adding your comment:
I'll let you in on the secret. 
I wrie this poem at the point in my life where everyone seems to be "growing up." Not in the good way like getting more knowledge and become a better person, but giving up dreams and settling into a safe existence. I mourn that loss through this poem. On a lighter note, I am very flattered by the compliment and thank you very sincerely. 
!!!
Stimulating thoughts that gave me a smile as I read. 