Cog in the corporate machine by day, cat lady by night. Still hopes to become an artist some day. Writes poetry because grammar scares her.
The Veiled Virgin
When they brought her inside
she was cold to the touch—
body blue-veined and covered in dew,
he wrapped her in canvas
and left her to slumber,
letting the night air brighten her hue.
He saw through to her core,
shape soft under his touch
he hummed, carving her delicate skin.
Now freed from stone prison
she will remain his still
constantly looked at, yet hidden within.