Perfectly plucked eyebrows.
Twisted into a curve or a wisp
or a breeze's whisper.
curled in synchronisation
like the smoke from your cherry crimson lips.
Where do you stop and i begin
Like ethereal beauties trapped
in a sunless world of minions
bought for copper coins
or simple spices. Late nights
spent with coffee cups or the
brilliant glare of the fluorescent
neon riverside bars and shophouse darkness.
That's what makes you beautiful.
New world coolies.
Beautiful but squashed
on the underground overhead trains.
perfume mixing with the outram park crowd.
High heels, slippers and flat souls.
Glamourous and forgotten.
I'm blind and waiting for you.
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