Kristin Garth


Gazebo gala, green-eyed girl. Long neck
lithe wrists, peacock pearls. Patina pitch,
onyx to forest green, their gleam bedecked
baroque, her freckled forearm cream. Bewitched
amidst aristocrats, transfixed in chintz
(my hair in plaits). One pearl among a strand
surrounds: betwixt the lords and ladies, gents
and hounds. Await a taste, embrace of hand.
Her flush frustrates their lips’ commands. A near
abduction by a duke: her titter coy,
my dire rebuke. Then palm extends, I fear,
to shake. Its jasmine scent my map employed.
I tremble, turn it to me, like a trick.
Tahitian pearls, fair flesh, I kiss then lick.

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