Crossdressing After Sara Teasdale

They walk by night with silent grace, In borrowed silks, with hidden face. Not bound by law of what should be, But dancing on the edge, so free. The stars that shimmer, soft and bright, Bear witness to their quiet flight. Like leaves that whirl in autumn's fire, They burn with a secret, fierce desire. The rose's blush, the lily's white, Are colors drawn from some new light, Where love is not a binding chain, But flickers, wild, between the rain. Their hearts, a world apart from shame, In every step, they seek no name, Just truth, like moonlight, soft and pale, A blowing wind, a tender veil.