She stands like a dame
bold with a subtle masculinity
her ties are with traces of time
each knotted with perfection

Once she lived in the countryside
driven by the fairytales of Paris
the melodious stance of the Effiel tower
doubled up with a forthright society

She drowned in pain, those blood tears
as her husband bedded the prostitutes
and dwindled the cash and advances
still they all threw themselves on him

She died a little each an everyday
until her affection for men truly died
and her fierly attention for women
summoned the unending flickering light