O maximal Madame X
of apple-almond eyes,
without a conscience
or conscious thought
I would savor you as
the wind greedily licks
off willow leaves in
their deciduous winter
weakness. I would become
a certain Norgay only
to climb your yew,
shout from atop your
auburn peak, and ask
if you would so kindly
(in the midst of spring
hecklers, birds, bees, etc.)
be my loveliest autumn.
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