A Young Girl’s Dimple

Beneath her peachy skin, she hides it well,

and only on one cheek is it revealed:

her dimple—a tiny silver bell

that trills in high C when she feels

 

a tremolo of mischief touch her lips,

the pucker of a new joke’s tartness,

the tingle of her own deliciousness.

Until then, the dimple hides, waiting,

 

inside a box, faintly dangerous.

Subconsciously, she knows that in the future

the dimple will have power to seduce,

and beauty is a weapon, if it suits her.

 

But now, she smiles, and cartwheels fill her face;

she laughs, and the dimple resonates.

 

 

 

 

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