the effiminate young lady sat quietly,
bathing in the soft rays of the morning sun.

those golden rays caressed
her flaxen hair
merging into the very blonde swirls
of those silken curls,
they seemed to slide and slip down her very
being,
as if helpless against the smoothness,
gentle softness of her skin,
the velvet maroon
of her bathing clothes, slipped on after her
brief dip in the now sparkling pool,
the calm aura that came with ease,
that radiated with every gesture,
every movement.
in the heavily guarded palace,
one could not help but admire her,
far, far away.

she was the modern helen of troy.