Walking Past Her
When she walked past mean air too walked with her,
her ivory brow,
her translucent eyes,
her petite loin,
her boats of breasts
bobbing up and down in
the sea of her body,
her dancing hips,
a rhythmic sound,
a smell coming from
the cells of her limbs
and a superb
panorama of her physique.
I couldn't stop her
but I sketched
everything of her
into the plain paper of my psyche
and popped into the album
of my memory.
Poetry by Mukul Dahal
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Written on 2006-10-28 at 07:27
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