The thin, barely-there line of hair that made its way from one
depression of the corner of your lip to the other, framing your closed smile; clung
to your ivory-chocolate skin like fine moss to a marble wall.
The smattering of down on your exposed arms that you bare
audaciously to a magazine world. This poster of rebellion against a
parlour-beauty that you wore like an organic medal made me fall in love with
your mind.
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