sordid scripture, warring woman, both menace and coquettish innocence —barricaded.
statues, fountains, and restraining orders, filling the garden: decorations of sunlight on a clock, and a view into tomorrow,
revealing the "texture" of her skin within the realm of her navel, as soft as lace, as smooth as the surface of a pond.
before diving in gives an otherworldly radiance, her shape and smile compared to everyday realities are solemn in the extreme, the dawn threatens to break in the east.
her voice, (a lungfully deep, sensuous purr), is so distinctive, come what may, this could be happiness:
sullen, waylaid and capricious, her urban sexuality hidden in the attic of revolution, suffused with the dreamlike, hazy glow of colored lights and tinsel.
desire is like Christmas —it always promises more than it delivers.