The sloping lines of your shoulders
Speak of Chinese pagodas.
They clash with your western face
Where child and courtesan
Clasp each other in a feigned embrace.
Life to you is an unfair, liquid mirror.
You stand with delicate, perpetual amazement,
Vainly seeking your reflection.
Seek it within the looking-glass
Of your spirit forever held out,
Forever ignored by your bargaining, undulating
Flesh, strange, divided Eurasian woman.