Talcum tips of black brushes
Glide gently across her oval face

A satin slip, caressing her hips,

Is bowed into a cushion of soft pine green

Rouge, blush, a tender cloth, her lips an oval desire

A laquered comb of black-set wood, adorned with droplet pearls

Sits solidly, her hair a bun, the purest Quioto night.