Somewhere within the balance,
There is a fresco she sits on that is
Painted by colored water and emptiedby sunlight

She was born out of a mystic wedlock;
A sexual tempest reincarnation,
She was a patron goddess.

A modern Queen;
Wearing her punk boots and cyber bondage
The descendant of past royalties (some forgotten)
As she dances a thousand year old ritual

I wish she could only see (sometimes)
Fake truths and stripped lies.
Fancy dress sticking to her,
with hot sweat and rain.

I would stand by her side,
Her mocha-colored, feline eys
Sparkling with glamour and mischief,
and her black hair always loose (as if it's always tangled)
A(n) (almost) displaced smile settles on her lips.

She says to me her twisted days-

of being no one,
sweetness, bitterness,
build-up emotions

I remember her saying, "I will be gone someday...but I'll come back."
Yes, a homage to her.

Helena, (my lady)
She's still there in the fresco (now in ruins)