photonix

IT"S THE WAY SHE LOOKS talking through her lips, cigarette dangling on the side like a child waiting to be taken by a grownup across a dangerous intersection........... The voice rumbles up from her diaphragm, rolling up like a thunderstorm on a far horizion. It is a bass intonation with a mysterious melancholy, like a cello. Her eyes flash with a knowledge of her sway, the beauty that has been bestowed. Within lies the preternatural command of life, of love, of the way it all works. Her body sways like a waterside reed on spiked silhouettes, her breasts held up high like a tempting fruit offering. And they call to her in the streets, like they are petitioning a saint, Ahhh-zee-ahhh. She stops for them. They babble in delight, in amazement. She stands before them, open, like a peacock flushing its gaint hand of feathers. But there is an unambiguous barrier. They will not go too far, be too familiar..........
Maybe it's he potency of her gaze, the self-awareness contained within it. It is as daunting as it is rare in a woman so young and so beautiful. The barrricade has long been secured, mortared by her blood. For you sense when she is cut, the crimson flows as if from an unremitting volcano. When you are accepted into her being, she looks at you with the protective gaze that you imagine Livia Drusilla cast on her husband and children to save the Roman Empire..........
I place my lips on hers and taste honey. Her blood I wear has a badge, as a soldier who will die for his Queen. She wears the blood I gave her. I know if I need to call her name, she will come to my rescue, in full armore, and kick someone's fucking ass bad!