Like a willow, her hair in ringlet curls Hung down in dirty-blonde swags. I spotted the empty seat next to her While hoisting my traveling bags. She understood me with her eyes When I gestured her leave to sit down— Those gorgeous Adriatic greens I’d see again when I got into town. Somewhere near 30 I would’ve guessed, Spendthrift with the sun, And holding me there in the mild arrest Of the fragrance she had on. The train shimmied past a derelict siding; My arm brushed the peach of her arm— Already my mind had raced down the tracks To…
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