Her eyes, posts of bare hazel clique, survey me in this chair. Her hair gathers in rude thunderheads by the ear, black about the field. Her engraved mouth is crowded with oblivion and serendipity, beckons a foreshortened hand that warbles with filaments of anticipation. The aspect of her neck brims with motion - a swan on flat water chases the smeared crumbs of evening. The beach of her *******, her cheek, her blush bough brow, Her knee, in repose, sustains a milk leg -Β Her face, gatheredΒ to watercolor thought - And behind it all, a mind rejoicing in the sun- O portrait, be glad you have no memories - with every new pair of eyes you have a new lover, a new lover, a new lover.