Breasts high and open, with
the curving belly, to the sun --
legs and arms neverthelessly
sprawed on the knowll.
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Eyelids lightly closed,
lips relaxed in enigmatic smiling
at whatever daydream itches
slowly in her mind.
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It doesn´t matter that the frame
couples her with desultory clouds,
a frond of bush curving
above the round thigh like a never
quite caressing hand.
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No touch can break
the budding flesh´s perpetual
summer, nor wake
death from this sunshiny dream.
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Bariss Mills
Domestic Fables
New Rochelle, NY, 1971, The Elizabeth Press
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For more information on the painting:
http://www.museumoskarreinhart.ch/
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You can also find me at:
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http://livinginthepostcard.blog.terra.com.br/
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http://ameiavoz.blog.terra.com.br/
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Labels: Bariss Mills, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, The Sleeper
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