Woman

Cycling

Hair. To the shoulders in length,

The color of burnt straw. Damp

from the morning dew. Yet smooth –

A well worn brown pilot’s scarf. Passed down

From one generation to the next.

 

The eyes, nestled behind well-maintained eyelashes, curly and dark,

Stare at something behind me. The color of my birthstone:

A piercing teal opal. All-seeing. And yet, all-misssing. The eyes:

See a whole person. Perfect, decent. The eyes:

Skip over minor flaws, miss major vices.

 

Two inches beneath, white bone protrudes from behind

Parted luscious pink strips of flesh. A smile capable of cooing

The most ferocious feline. The men who epitomize courage, Beowulf himself,

cowers at the heavenly beam of light. A flash of the smile – all it takes to get her way.

The smile seen and coveted by royalty around the world.

 

Jutting from her head at ironic angles are two ears.

Long and lean with luscious lobes languishing feebly at the bottom.

Piercings line the round, fat part of her ears – acts of controlled violence –

Destruction to make way for prepossessing jewelry.

Exotic colors and designs. Precious metals, lined with precious stones.

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