The rays of sun
gleams against her milky-white skin
and flickers over the whites of her eyes,
as the clouds bow aside
to bare the naked skies,
bruised purple red.

She fans herself
as sweat droplets trickle,
down the sides of her forehead
while the creases of her lips
lift upward,
a perfect U,
in chime to the laughter,
the chatters of the others.

Her light toffee irises,
dark brown pupils, vacant,
glance toward the others,
dressed in silk corsets
and frilly dresses,
tucked with sachets,
while they balance their fans
upon silk-gloved hands
they sip their tea,
in unison,
not so much as a clatter of china.

With a nudge from the side,
she looks up,
strands of hair flow too freely,
the chatters apparently ceased,
pupils of others puncture
her milk-white skin
until her creases fold upward,
and she nods,
fan in hand,
the chatter continues,
as if given permission,
while her empty eyes glance
over bruise-colored skies,
piercing into her milk-white skin.