To the quiet one,
	the coy,
	the wallflower.

Her dark circled eyes
	buried in a book.

Hard little nipples,
	dusty pink,
	beneath a tatty
	black singlet.

Those restless legs,
	sprawled across
	a squeaky bed.

Her secrets kept,
	like pressed daisies
	hidden by
	pages read.

Pressed Flowers, Michael Faudet