Blissful Confusion

Her lips, carnelian, a conceit
headdress of violets, blooming
in the hedgerows of her amber braids
like the pinched faces
of morning glories at dusk,
their clambering tendrils eclipsing
the slender distance between
her shoulder blades;
as the devious curves of hips
abandoned the safety of her narrow waist
falling floor ward to dancing feet,
their daring mistress
now lying down in the middle
of a beach road,
on a dark night of wine
and laughs, and blissful confusion.

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