Her clothes lean forward in the chair,
Watching upon the screen their mouth
A vast and honeysuckling South.
See, under the hemispheric breast,
Legs like an unscaled polar North;
A million hands ride forth.
The angelic monster combs her hair
And reassures her flawless skin
Absolved from pimpled sin.
Her clothes lean forward in the chair,
Begging for what they plainly see,
The full immortal moon of Me.
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