Sunday, April 4, 2010

On a sour note

So not in the mood. Rather down. Nonetheless, I'm here, if late.

Partly Doll

Locked in the castle of her brow,

a marble edifice, beautiful forever,

she struggles to turn thoughts into winks,

words into wine. Her eyes are framed

by the finest mink, her lips as sweet

as cocktail cherries. How will she

summon or beckon but by the luck

that luck will spy that perfect face?

How will she breathe through a nose

like a hazelnut, a piece of great price?

Still, it’s a sweet gilt-edged shelf

she sits upon, looking down.

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