Beneath the veil of a thin veneer
That shades the proper movements
Of an ordinary life
With no extraordinary strife
There is a tell at the edge of her happy.
Not seen by all, but to some so clear
A quivering hesitation
Lives deep in the anguish
Of unspoken language
In the echo of the sweetest laughter.
Perfected artifice in surrogate love
She bears her loss in the weight of the lull
Between each step she takes
And works hard not to break
The uncomfortable rhythm of her stride.