Monday, August 9

Her hair in springtime

Her hair like a fertile field budding with blooms
sweet-scented, the kind laid at tombs.
Her eyes gleam with that intelligent flame
That tells me of her starbirth, the same
Fire that was bequeathed by the Titan,
And her gaze! I am so smitten.
Her skin is quite smooth to touch, I daresay,
Though to know how it feels I must tell another day.
When she passes by the scent of ambrosia lingers,
As of an aromatic oil applied by her lovely, pianolong fingers.

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