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Her Portrait

"Inspired by the work of Lucinda Lyons with a nod to Swinburne."
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In a chamber suffused with emotion

By the light of innumerable dawns,

In a house betwixt forests and ocean,

Where the briar rose bristles with thorns;

There hangs her portrait in splendour,

In mystic silence, forsaken, unknown,

In lines both violent and tender

And colours of thunderous tone.

Her eyes bespeak wisdom and knowing,

Her face; enigmatic and ever serene

With tresses luxuriant, flowing

To realms of delight yet unseen.

She is lissome of line, at times seeming

To move with the heart of the storm.

In turn, she seems tranquilly dreaming;

Creating visions of exquisite form.

Her goddess soul demands adoration,

She is a daughter of tempest and night,

Of desire - the last incarnation,

A creature of ethereal light.

Ceaseless and boundless her passion;

Kindler of unquenchable fire,

Nude in the fearless old fashion,

Wellspring of lust and desire!

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