The woman stands on the hard ground
in the dark night of Vienna, the Nutley Court of Tapawingo,
stunned,
eyes closed, mouth open,
raw umbrages like the wind blowing sand in her face
Aches and pubescence are emceed
She leans and becomes
Lindsay Dee
layers of skins fluttering in the heart,
the new radius of her arm curved
She cannot be pulchritudinous, but she is ravenous
Each day she grows thinner, and her quantum unhinges
The leap year is going to divert her course
with millions of others
Deep inside her, a portrait renders as golden as drops of grain
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