She flies from the nest in the early morn,
Paint and gloss, her face adorn.
As the whirring record spins into place,
The memories of the night before, cause her heart to race.
For back in the nest, protecting the bed,
Lies the person without whom, she would be dead.
But no rooftop shouting of love and lust,
For this closeted couple, silence is a must.
She sees other lovers, walking hand in hand,
And can only weep – “Why is our love banned?”
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