At first it was just a foot that grew in my garden, so soft and supple in the rustling green.
Soon the rest took shape: a leg, long and delicate,
hips blooming outward like an ink blot test,
a spine, knotted and bowed like a string of bluebells,
Finally I could see my strange fruit,
her hair as brown,
her dress as bright,
her eyes as wild as the day she was buried.
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