Descending Vorontsov, Bednaya Liza’s

sashes flickered rubenescent hues

and imperial prose, as Karamzin spent his

nights defiling her heirs. They latched a

cast iron gate, one time in finality. Gallicized

hands wandered about her narrow impasses

of mother's well-rubbed oily balmed olive

skin, and depth-ripened pores. The torrents

of flesh bleeding succulent fashioning[s] of

lavender and white ginger fetishes. She met

railroad tied and driven relentless shoulders.

Youth and reasonings. God's secrets and

living pontifications - his reassurances.

Her deepening wellsprings. She expended

Slavonic churches over passioned droplets
without wavering flags. His stoic uninvolvement.

Ruptures. In the end insignias rule the world.

And, her heart reascended a frozen Vorontsov.

(Copyright © Donna L. Quesinberry-2008)

Reading of innocense's immunitive discourse in intrepidation and the iron gate.