November 5, 2003
She plucks and colours and pastes on masks. She dangles jewels in exotic colours. She perfumes the scent of her being. She is beautiful. Her fresh skin is unadorned. She drapes misshapen fabric around her body. Her smell is clean, her hair flies free. She is beautiful. She is comfortable with the scars and marks of childbirth. She is comfortable in the angles and lack of curves of youth. She enjoys the burgeoning expanse of skin as she ages. She is beautiful. The wrinkles mould her face. The colour streams away from her hair. She is beautiful. In his eyes.