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Sunday, August 21, 2011

Curve 3

Under the designer label satin of dawn, the color of summer when one closes one’s eyes
it was her true self I saw, in her original nudity, among gardens and tortures—blood and flowers—

 her long oiled body gleaming in the shadows like a sleeping  
Tresses of pearls were fastened to her temples, and fell to the corners of her mouth
           which was rosy as a half-open pomegranate. 
                      Our blood, enamored of its tyrant

                               flows for the eternal swarming of desire.

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