Her

Her leather-saddled hips

shift gently beneath her shift,

and her copper eyes

like avocado pits, sit nestled in

her cheek of almond skin.

She paints a bee-sting red

on her honey-nectar lips

that leaves her stranded

kiss, on the rim of every

wine glass.

She smells of orange peels

and ginger, of basil and vanilla

She smokes two packs a day

of fancy foreign cigarettes,

to paint her white teeth silver.

She moves like she knows

I’m watching, like she knows

how much noise she makes

as her black pumps praise

her gait, with a Click-Clack

across the floor –

This is the final draft of Her. I edited it down under the advisement of my poetry workshop professor, however I kind of miss some of the omitted lines....Thoughts on which version is stronger?