She was nothing special to look at
But in the night she seemed to shine
Her hair, black, set up in curlers
Had this certain charm
Her hands, rings on fingers
Flew feather like over that mirror face
And that shade of red lip looked natural
Hands touched mirrored face
Warm and soft
She slid between covers
Not daring to breathe
And the soft tick of clocks
Lulled her softly to sleep
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