Pretty Words From A Pretty Face

Her words are pretty.  She’s pretty too.  She’s got that kind of face that makes you want to kiss her whenever she opens her mouth.  I bet her lips taste like sugar.

There is a little bit of awkward in her.  Sometimes she’ll pause and fill her speech with disfluency words as she tries to put together a thought on the fly.  The entire time she’ll have her lips cocked in a smirk because she knows you’re hanging on the tip of teeth and the skin of her tongue.  Is it there on purpose?  Was it carefully manufactured to draw the fly into the spider’s web?  Or is it just her natural tendencies?

But her words pretty.  She knows all of the ways to sing you into oblivion.  She can pluck the strings of your harp as she recites the rhymes to carry you off of this world.  She doesn’t know the kind of power she has when she gets going the way she does.  Or does she?  It doesn’t matter.  I’m a sucker for her pretty words.

She likes flowers.  Bring her a bouquet and she’ll be yours for the night.
She hears voices in the wind.  They give her advice and turn her direction.
Don’t upset the wind as it carries great weight with her.
The sand between her toes is therapeutic, even if it’s in every crevice for weeks after.

She’s a bunch of mixed up colors on a palette used by children.  Jumbled and beautiful in a chaotic way.  Don’t try and make sense of her because she doesn’t make sense to herself, just let her live.

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