A woman's beauty is in the flickering essence of her heart, like the virtuosity of De La Tour her face is fading, yes, she is beautiful but against the odds I am enraptured over what she told me more than her lips, hips, and finger tips.
I will forget her face that's part of a controlled burn, but I cannot control how much fire will remain as a result of her thoughts and how they engulfed what was hackingly breathing inside my ribs when they burned me.