Painting by Diego Velázquez
I could only but wonder
what hands carved your ardent curves.
The young seraph hides its tower
upon seeing you.
How I wish you would at least
turn to look at me
or that Cupid
move the mirror to the left.
The mirror spells envy
to every other breathing woman
as you look at it.
How I sometimes wish
I were a god that could morph
into a mirror myself.
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