Renoir 

The world bends 

at the curve of her arm 

and worships the grace of her neck. 

She is a soft vision 

blurred at the edges 

never still 

her skirt rustles 

her hair tumbles 

her hands look for

something to hold. 

A rose

blooming in her cheek. 

An ocean 

in the blue of her eyes. 

She possesses all the world’s beauty

and commands all of its love. 

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