Her name is Tracy and she looks at men all day
on screens and streets and books.
She is made of desires women are not supposed to have,
her sisters rendered blind by modesty.
Her dearest friend looks only at the swirl of turquoise
feelings that envelope her man
and never the back or the shoulders that Tracy hungers for
at every party,
unwrapping him from his suit while her friend prays over the meal.
And what no one knows except the pantry of his brain,
is he longs to be kissed by her lashes,
loves to be seen as a thrill,
as a man sees a woman
and a woman is forbidden to see a man.