She. There is a woman Who loves me; She keeps herself, away, away, Away for me to see or stray And nailed red, she paints herself for me. Underwater tresses like forested kelp unharvested Bronzed in the blue and lit from within But bottomless, dim, I swim In and through her swathed caresses; She. Waits and watches and keens For me, formed different within, and Sea-ing, seething, between crashings closed cliffside I dwell, sweltering in this oxygen, Peering deep beneath froth and foam besides; Excusing these, meaningless flee. She. Waits and watches for the wrong To moment the right Asserting me, she weeps, Sleeps lone and knows I loathe this Life, denied. Janus at least Saw the other side. I see My pride, These lies, and She.