soft -stepping gazelle,
in woods turning brown;
lambent eyes and lustrous skin,
she wears a diadem of sorrel keratin.
mottled fingers caress slender hands,
soft like her name,
her lips – and the dulcet tone
when she speaks in a shy,
soft curve against the teak and timber
of a bench; riparian setting,
for pulchritude clothed in the purple of passion….
…and unclothed by a piercing gaze