she leaves her wandering eyes awake
and her mind totally lucid, because she says
it’s tedious sleeping alone.
The hanging pain is torture now, she says.
The yearning has become poetry now, she writes.
Take off the warm voice, the tresses
and the natural scent, and
all you have left are
Self-proclaiming powerful, but lend an ear for
all that silence. Can you hear her shouting for a
a walking love song and
a strong heart
made of steel and devotion.