Holding Out For A Hero.

Who would have thought me a heroine?
I am. No different from all these
pallid, languid, long red-haired
far-gazing Victorian women.

Separated from the years I am
no different, I too, like them
am suffering from unrequited love.
Can you believe it?
ok, so it's more Bridget Jones
than Burne-Jones.

Yet, I remain pale and tormented
a slave to your buttoned-up
old fashioned reserve.
You who never thinks, who never
speaks.
If you are to save this damsel
in distress
who has let down her hair,
who is exiled across the sea,
who is enchanted by you,

Must.