Tiny flowers crown your mane,

With love, physical or feigned?

Cradled in your love’s embrace

No portent shines from your face.

Tendrils of gold hearts flee from your gown,

Desire speaks without a sound.

Does your delicate hand hold him close?

Or pose as a statue in repose?

Locked inside the gold abyss

Nameless,

known only for

The Kiss