Hair brushed aside, one motion,
Eyes cerulean blue,
Her arms spread out, an ocean,
With tears of morning dew.

Windswept cliffs conspire,
She soon herself was made
an object of desire
in a love so without shade.

If only, then, she’d find the fight,
The freedom deep inside
to give into her flight tonight,
The epicene world’s bride.

But to herself, perhaps,
She only can aver,
Her heart is cruelly ersatz,
With a will she can’t confer.

Life remains, though quite disdained,
Her dreams they are concealed,
Secrecy brings quiet pain,
But stands too as a shield.

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