Scarlet peeks out, left breast.
Silk, faintly iridescent.
Susurration: cloth crosses cloth.
Woodsmoke, citrus, musk,
a man's sweat. Calloused hands
drawn over stone. Mirrored below,
in the pool, a face. That face
has never been young nor a fool's.
It's known sin. Lines years of smiles
carved therein terminate in hooks
at a mouth, thin-lipped.
Two wives in a row, a child.
Nine leaves float, encircle his head:
halo -- autumn crowns him red.
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