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The Misfortune of Shallow Sight she slid through the sackcloth like a silkworm gracing the sweet softness of aching movement of slender shaved legs and her hair was blessed with a kink golden brown fresh clean like the liking to a week old kitten her hands were sweet perfumes penetrating the dermis with intent on making man smile without reason but her eyes were darted and gray uneasy to my own sights yet her scent the vitality of her ways made me a bit greater than a man with common sight her lack was no metaphor needed for this iteration I give you in fact my eyes are now driblets for hawks carrion for foolish men who seem to eat with their eyes I am blind and so happy to confess to all of the noisy permutations proud beings with tearless eyes ©Ernest Williamson |