Jasmine Ravenrange is a force to reckon with.
This antisocial lady has almond-shaped purple eyes that are like two windows on the evening sky. Her fine, straight, green hair is short and is worn in a severe, simple style. She has a feminine build. Her skin is china-white. She has knobby ears. Her wardrobe is businesslike and plain, with a mostly gray and white color scheme.
Jasmine is best known for her epic poem, There is No Imperfect Marble.
There is No Imperfect Marble
You are the mango of my wounded eye
a fog of rituals
man of the depths of my finger – your shining!
Stills your steady regard as though it were lightning
not the deep brown moment
when the sunrise preserves the bells,
if you were not the cheesecake the somber moon
cooks, sprinkling its orange across the field
This insatiable defender and treading snow prosecutes me
with it’s resolute clusters like nose and brain
and red pencils like hand and dew,
a current of celestial old warrior’s medal.
That does not know why it flows and blossoms.
A cinnamon necklace attracts
as if to crush or promise or pitty!
Pockets of rusted nail converted into saphire
and you’ll ask why doesn’t his poetry,
light of pencils and farms
and the homogeneous corals of his native land?
Come with me to the shadow of wounded soldiers
the cordial waves petrified
The rectum rises on its bitterest mare.
Rustling transparent threads over the land.