ベトナムの芸者

 

scent is flagrant, pungent of an opium…

poppy`s, they bleed in seeds disrupt;

in her sleazy district of show long

butterflies weep

`neath the cocooned hues

like painted ladies

on red gossamer doors

blistering in dragon`s breath ~

mildew is a flower…

quaint and gold, rings on an absent finger

white paddies, they are vast

and evasive upon her mekong pu`bis

black as the center it folds, blossoms

bloom and scent of cherries papier mache

where blasphemous lover`s kiss in orals;

this is her celestial, sainted and fornicated

her face, damaged, her soul, feathered

and drifting in the bastard winds,

her body moans through her necessary bones;

in the afternoon teas and turtle baths of longevity

he who bids holds fast in the moments of forever;

 

 

this is the old way,

you will not see this again

 

 

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