She was unattractive
But the lines on her face were beautiful
They separated her from the rest
She claimed they were a symbol of freedom
My gentle fingers wished to caress them
And whisper love to them
And understand each of them better
But her wings were abruptly cut
She looked at life in a fragile manner
She held on to it
Like an egg
Her dresses would reveal the questions enveloping her
She paced in slow motion
As if she was being drained of life
She adored silence
Not filthy quiet
But with a bit of passion
She was hung up on me
Grabbed me by the collar
Each time she saw
My absence left a void in her
Green was her favourite colour
Yes green
Her youthful radiance showed when she smiled
And a bit of sympathy
But she was hauled away
Fouled with twinges of jealousy she would snatch my arm
Each time someone eyed me
To love is to die
And dying is an art
Her life was in peril
It was there
In her eyes
It showed
The soft sweaty palm in limpid handshake
She lacked confidence
Better euphemism is shewas careful
High she soared
Into her complexity
Leaving neat pieces of her whereabouts
She carried the war like her name
And was a soldier on her own
But she died
I wasnt her first nor her second
I was her's
Her scent was that of a cream
Tinted with pain was her joy
Each time my heart dwells on her
My heart beats faster than military drums
She wore pain perfectly
And fear was her armour
Smothered with heroism
She died, died a premature death.