The limit of her skin reflects a ray
of Sunlight. She is the unsearchable gem,
the mystifying library. The long stems
of flowers leap from the marsh and pray
to the light revolving about them. The fray
of her veil betrays perfection, the seams
of her restored clothing. I forget the poem
that apprehends her, behind the low gray
clouds she hides. I have found her, I must
sing this remembrance forever. The rugs
are dyed in complements and I have thrust
myself into her like the extending fig
tree enters the blue sky. The quiet trust
disclosed the obscure beauty of her legs.
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