Monday, October 15, 2012

She's dark. Her breast is round, her teeth are white

She's dark. Her breast is round, her teeth are white,
a sweater is tied around her waist. The gold
of surfaces reflects light, she has the tight

stockings halfway up her thigh. The many folds
of her clothes hide things, the long-flowing brown
of hair is like a tapsetry that is holding

her body in the light. She's the moving noun
that pleases me, the disclosure of her pink
library is dazzling. Her dark lips now own

my spirit, I am an instrument that cannot think
without her gaze. She is the poetry that I recite
in darkness, my cries and sighs that slowly sink

into the nothing. O I must thank the light
that shows her olive skin and her eye's white!

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