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GACELA of the lilac-breasted woman ©

Sam Gilliland
Stranraer, Scotland

A bikini-clad, lilac-breasted woman, walking barefoot in the sand,
And I think about all those memories of beauty,
Sunsets that held saffron-tinged hands with the horizon,
Daybreaks, filled with farewell songs to night stars,
And brightly plumaged birds dancing duets in ballads,
Making me privy to the oldest sensations in the world,
Except, perhaps, for the sense of desire,
It has an honest beauty all of its own,
Unless it is corrupted,
But today I can loll in the profound rationale of praise,
Heady approval founded in the honour of a sensuous reveille,
It awakens in me the searing regrets of arrogance,
Thinking I could capture a rainbow,
Or lure true love to my bosom.
Her stride quickens, birthing thoughts that feel for her burnished flesh,
Orbs of great perfection jiggle and search for my eyes,
Besides, she has a look that cries of gratitude,
A tantalising tapestry of grace and refinement that ripples and undulates,
Light brown hair, brushed by the breath of a sea-born breeze,
Cascades and shimmers around bare shoulders,
And she has the mouth of that heavenly Madonna,
We are alone on the beach and desire's quest finds a willing home,
Dark eyes blaze and burn into a long deserted soul,
A beatific smile lingers on slightly parted lips,
'Senhor', her whisper whips the air,
It is soft and truly seductive,
'Quer um bom tempo? Only fifty euros.'
And an angel crashed to earth.

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