Sonnet of the Young Girl

Yes, the girl was young, her gaiety
was young, her near-flat chest
was young and her slouchiness
was young, even younger yet.

With her reputation, as the day’s
dialectic contains a minute,
her fruitful looks contained her
in crystal and in images of fruit.

Fiery fine blood and tender roses
at the lily-shaped peak of her legs
aroused various bonds and, so,

with her reputation, hot stuff and lonely,
night carried her off through the poppies
with a man tangled between her feet.