My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

 

 

 Coral is far more red, than her lips red:

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

 

And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

 

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go, 
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

 

And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.

PHOTOGRAPHY by Malte Pietschmann (maltepietschmann.com)

HAIR & MAKE-UP by Theo Schnuerer @ Blossom Berlin (theoschnuerer.de)

STYLING by  Miss Nicole @ Fraulein Kink (frauleinkink.com)

MODEL is Sydney LaFaire

PHOTO-ASSISTANCE by Jonas Harmsen

Poetry provided by William Shakespeare, Sonnet 130. Full text without images (plus excellent analysis & references, from here)