Dim are the lights as through the 
aisles she wanders,

A vision in a dreamscape between the 
musty shelves,

Short pants and halter top, and naught 
but flesh between them,

She wanders like a phantom through the 
byways of my mind.



Taught and tan is her skin over the 
smooth cords of her muscles,

Graceful and unconcerned as a tame deer 
in her pen.

Among ancient vestal virgins she moves
without expression,

Striding along on long legs as she 
shelves a stack of books.



Disdain is met with disdain, disaproval 
slides off her back,

And all the backward mores of a conservative 
little town

Are of no more concern to her than the 
expression on her face;




Yes, the same blank face she presents to the 
world 

To sheild her from the angry blows of jealousy 

That simmers within repression's loveless heart.


       January 13, 1999