My uninterested muse.

She sits, as I would, uninterested.
When she is not careful,
Peals of laughter escape her,
Her eyes become bright,
And her teeth shine the color of milk.

She stares, as I would, ahead.
When she is sleeping,
Her eyes dance the tango,
Those lips of silk rest slightly parted,
And her fingers curl in sync with her dream.

She cries, as I would, shamefully. 
When she is sobbing,
Heaves of emotion pour from her,
Her arms hug each other,
And she curls into herself.

She loves, as I would, freely.
When in the throes,
Damp hair clings to her neck,
Her chant reaches God Banaitja,
And she rests on air.

She fights, as I would, valiantly.
When thrusting her sword,
Emphasis of honesty rings from the tower,
Her body bears bruises,
And she nearly faints from exhaustion.

She pretends, as I would, carefully.
When lying to herself,
Lines are drawn, plan are made,
Her heart begins to withdraw,
And her moat is built.

She is, as I am, Me.