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Woman Of Art
Without words, but not without silk
a dance, a sundown sweeps
dashing dragons - scales of falling leaves
low soaring in a golden autumn glow
koto plucking fingers flow
The kimono bestows her
a frame of winter frost
frail forearms chambered into sleeves
lines of brocade pine trees
their needles bare of snow
Moonshadow muses
and a choice infusion, verdant, a spring
showcased through steam
Lips pursed - petals rouge
cheeks pressed white
green pressed tea
Midsummer now
to sated men;
clutching cups of little hot springs
with their own air to breathe
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