tale told truthfully:

I watch her the little doll who cries in rapid succession fire flushes her face a surge seizes then leaves the extinguished skin seals her pearly face for protection the wings of her upper lip burnt blood bubble with spittle between pangs the little doll rushes to rip the envelope of her lips words encourage their way up from the vase of her throat bidding for a string of utterances or a successful sentence to bloom as a lotus into flower the lily floats head up dreamily in the collected tear puddle dwelling on the landscape of the little doll’s skin the Poet stares as watchman in the sun of day writing the little doll’s tale to night she will not forget I was watching.