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Her voice embellished
By smile tapestry, her eyes, simply golden maple
Glazed and served on flour pancakes
Her residual ivory skin, the evanescent British colonial blood
Prowling through sheer night shorts
And long-tresses that cascade in swift waves
Descending like a stairway from heaven
A creature that paints my existence
With never-foreseen colors
Her chrysanthemum lip-petals
Budding my mouth and blooming a smile
Her epiphytic body that grows on mine
Her fragrant quill that enwraps mine
– Wood and bark in heaven’s clutch –
As tender as glycerin, as fragrant as cinnamaldehyde
And always as untamed and profuse
As wild cinnamon.


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