I’ve seen my inner lady
dressed in long, flowing organzas
she’s standing on the edge of sea cliffs
or the middle of empty, rolling hills
while pastel clouds flow past her legs
and pain ripples her hair
I think my soul feels stuck
like legs locked in position
almost exposed in sheer fabrics
the touch of sorrow has softened to a breeze
but endlessly caresses my being
beauty brushes my fingertips
and wraps around my torso
but it’s like passing petals on the wind
nothing enters in deeper