She tells me her story in this room
as we sit by candlelight’s tiptoed
truth under the nakedness of life;
hiding behind smiles, sadness exists,
hiding behind kindness is loneliness.
Her face is finely painted, yet fragile,
beautiful and delicately held in this light, with
eyes that scurry like ornate doors,
opening to show me the root of
herself, birth’s softness swept
along in moments, nothing
imaginary or false,
yet lacking love’s affection.