Quick and repeated
She thudded upon the wake
Of a heartbeat, to the touch
For a few sparks that lifted her,
To then bring her down
To embers that would scrawl
Her name for the finest tapestry.

Sinful, though
With bleeding stare onward
To the fairness of clouds drawn white.

Fatal to the scent of her,
With wine brought towards her lips
Of a tint too far into the red
Upon the rarest smile.

Porcelain in all her flesh,
With breasts for the cup
Of hands that never release,
With the breath that never goes dim
Along the sigh of pleasure’s sin.

Her face, awry among the dew
Droplets that soak from the eyes.

Love would wake,
As life might break
Her to the shore,
Finding elsewhere
To be adored.

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