There are statements of the flesh
That are estranged from the sexual revolution
The mantillas, the hijabs and many more
That preserve queendoms of the flesh
Inside thick-walled ramparts.
And there are places too, oases, wonderlands
That are clouded by the cover of garments
Battling the expectations of the Neanderthal mind
Red carpets with flesh candy on display
And convenient wardrobe malfunctions
And in that sanctuary of keeping Godiva
Locked inside, you find a beautiful strain
Of non-disclosure, the wealth of a shroud
That in essentiality, is a battleground
On her own right, of the woman and the siren.
With the implicit knowledge,
Of how beautiful expression can be,
Inside a well-lit room.