alea iacta esto

Black As Liquorice

Black as liquorice she was
Walking through the train station
Head ping-ponging on proud shoulders
Her back, ninety degrees to the floor

Wore no makeup, she didn’t
Her face translucently chemical free
Skin, slightly mottled
Like fine sandpaper
Happy, the smile that she wore

If only her mouth had bled lipstick
Her eyes had danced behind long lashes
Her cheeks had spelt blossom
Oh boy, she’d have stun. Stun!
And no head would have dared ignore

But she was fine as she was
All black as liquorice


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