long and languid, stretched
out in her chair,
a cigarette between her fingers,
a bottle of beer
nearby, she reads her poetry,
blue eyed, black
haired, a smart wild look
about her.
she reads to the camera, plays
with the eye
that watches her,
seductive and hoarse, whispering
her words, impressed with
her own genius. how can
you not a love a poet
such as this, one of her
kind.
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