Leanne

Her manner always myriad, many a life she’s thrown, unlike mine let it be said, never violent like the sea, a scientist bright she knows, the solace of dreams, never in danger losing cred, creates but doesn’t own, always says more is less, she won’t leave this café, and cannot pray for calm, but will tend her keys, with lipstick instead, her skin golden brown, she lights someone’s bed, a loving need, for some lucky scrap, brings a sense of ease, gives us our daily bread, makes it warm as toast, she who lightly treads, so heavy on our soul.