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The Piquate

The jungle smile
The gaze
The eye twitch
The talk, like a magical touch
The flexes, as she shoves her braids back
Giggling between laughter
Her voice, like the heavenly acoustic pluck
Her words, like whirling wind
I tell you, the look of her eyes is like the vibration of a razor on a light skin
Her body, winding and curving with a luster in toughness of diamond
The softness and smoothness of fresh mushroom gills
An angel in being

Nyonje

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