Their perfume

Reminds me of the banks of the river Nile

As if I'd ever been there before

Of crushed jasmine,

Fragrant hyacinth, steeped in wine,

Their lilting voices are songs which were first uttered in

Ancient desert tents thousands of years ago

Their rosy pink cheeks

Are ripened persimmons,

Waiting to be harvested

And eaten

Hands fluttering

Like nervous doves,

Their hair like the gloss of a raven's wing

Sleek, black,

And beautiful.

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Ok this sucked.