Akin to a Bird-of-Paradise,
swathes of silken blonde hair
livid with purple plumes,
he ambled past the local hospital,
gay pride in every step.

He appealed to her aestheticism,
she was a writer of poems
and lover of fine art,
she thought how his flesh
was delicate as the features
of a Pre-Raphaelite portrait.

Their eyes met for a moment
he perceived her disapproval
and inwardly, fell to earth
like a shot bird,
his plumage in disarray.

Outwardly defiant, he glared
- a gulf of years
gushed between them
like a river too wide to bridge,
and they stared at each other,
isolated on separate shores.

His eyes darkened with disdain.
He frowned assertive
as if that Bird of Paradise
was splaying out it's vivid tail.
She walked on, talon-torn
by a stranger's glare.