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Of Unbrushed Hair and He Who Stands in Grandeur
My sister is winging a sharp eyeliner
She paces frantically back and forth in between —
Brushing her hair, caressing and ironing the black floral wrap dress
The one with the little white peonies engraved on, that she loves so much
She tells me she’s not to put on a lot of blush
Upon enquiring, she says her fiancé doesn’t like it—though she does.

