Those dresses women wore
used to swirl and churn
into fluid, fluent tongues,
fusing aroma and air
until, narrowing your eyes,
they let themselves be thus found
with wings splashing upward
from waist and arms—
an ocean streaming toward the sky
through the flowing framing
of a femme
filled as delicately
with enamored scenes
as violin strings
within the eddies
of knowing touch and sound—
a garden
lowering its guard.
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