All eyes fly her cloudy blue smile, hands around her hips.
Now as I tickle a friend’s wrist, she looks at me, compassionate or complacent? I could not tell!
Blond she stands with that fine figure that of a countess. She calls my driver’s van a carriage.
I am all buttoned up with my winter red coat I wear in October, I too have brown curls, dark eyes then. This friend who stands next to me she seems to bear will-o-the wisps. What she embodies are not dead spirits but a flighty creature I would have met on the North seas if she was not from St Petersburg. Her soul sister is mine too, she a friend. A lover or a wife she could have been forever. Did she leave to the U.S.A? Red haired, and that smile, a little red sea fish, a mermaid. Beautiful and bold.
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