segunda-feira, maio 14, 2007

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.

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