Your hair is the gold of sun-soaked
straw,
and also seems as thick and straight.
Strange, that it would stay in place,
to frame your face.
Your eyes are so watery blue I fear
that they will run,
Perhaps come at me in waves.
You have the skin of an apple, colored
by months of sun,
and industriously smoothed, waxed, en
masse.
Your lips, too, are appleish,
especially in their redness,
and also their heart shape, set off
from your face
With what looks like a drawn line,
remarkably defined.
You are years of descriptions of
beauty, enlightened,
and you are frightening.
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