Before the deshabille of evening love
loosened in its rhythm like a flow
released and relaxed with free verse,
easy elegance of its afternoon gives
its bridging legs that move to pointillism
and its subtle sting of a fluxing gaze
that makes distance disappear—
and with that stroke all is being changed
as her eyes like a master cast and paint
a beauty line on you—across time and space,
their line anew, the figure worth of every gold
which, as pollen dust, all the flowers in the world
may bring and breathe—that light of stars transformed,
so it can sense and live and scent her with a love-in-deed.
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