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.