no lipstick
sits upon my dresser top
no long-handled brush
graces my hair
for 100 nightly strokes
bras
panties
nestle neatly
in the upper drawer
in practical cottons
not a bow
or piece of lace
to be found
faint lines around the eyes
silver threaded through
close-cropped hair
betray my age
but do not give away
my tempestuous heart
beating beneath
today’s ironic tee
or my siren soul
that sings
French torch songs
softly to myself
I know that you are
blinded by my
middle-age
tomboy appearance
but passion
longing
are still
a fathomless well
inside my breast

© 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved