He eulogized the bad boys,
James and Jack,
but Marilyn was sacred.
Her sultry innocence
regarded him through tilted windows
hung on tacks
that pocked
the adolescent's lair.
A girl who breathed his air
and hoped for more
desired in vain.
She came no closer to his pen
than moistened hands
to sighs of platinum
in velvet seated night.
Mortality denuded him,
he burrowed in
delusions of the screen.
Every girl on earth
can bow to Marilyn,
her rival from beyond,
a feminist unblemished.
Once a daughter walks the halls
of headless boys
enamored of the goddess,
she is free.
To love the holy rites
of imperfection.
To offer them
unblinking
to a man.
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