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Portrait of a Young Man as The Artist
The meridian is posing,
posturing her attentions.
She is laudable,
a laundry list of perfections
that can only be seen without scrutiny.
Would you observe her
and belabor her worship?
It is coy - as her eyes
play down your inseam
to size up your length
and mettle.

We can not handle the meridian
She, bedecked in silks,
is our lace goddess.
She sows her glory, binding beauty
into history books and myth
Do not look at her,
she will turn to stone.
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