She
was what
you might call
well-put, and but
for certain minor
rumored imperfections
could have found a pedestal
in any pantheon that was.
But she was just another
pseudoclassical nude,
blindfolded, aloof,
collecting dust
on her white,
brittle
tits.
was what
you might call
well-put, and but
for certain minor
rumored imperfections
could have found a pedestal
in any pantheon that was.
But she was just another
pseudoclassical nude,
blindfolded, aloof,
collecting dust
on her white,
brittle
tits.
2 comments:
This is very beautiful. It awakens a deep nostalgia, a rueful awareness of this world...
The shaping of a poem can say so much ;)
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