I know a girl

I know a girl.

She is beautiful, classically so. Flawless olive skin and curly hair. She wears her beauty, her womanhood, with aplomb. It's as if she wakes up in the morning and wraps herself in it like a pea-coat. She walks like a woman stalking the streets of downtown Manhattan.

I know a girl.
She is beautiful, vulnerably so. There is a knowingness to her. She has lived, she has loved. She has the eyes of a worldly woman. It's as if she has glimpsed heaven and hell and knows what's to come. She sees through us.

I know a girl.
She is beautiful, dangerously so. There is a wildness to her. She is untameable, feral, wild. She cannot be handled and she will not be controlled. It's as if she has decided to let go of all that holds her back. She is free.

I know a girl.
She is beautiful, mysteriously so. There is an exoticness to her. She is a conundrum. She is unsolvable, furtive, a secret. It's as if the deities themselves decided on her and told her things they have never told anyone else. She knows the question to which no-one knows the answer.

I know a girl.

She is beautiful, painfully so. There is a sorrow to her. She is agony. It's as if she has plummeted to the depths of despair and smiled in the face of the Algea. She has embraced aching and like an alchemist she has turned it to gold.

I know a girl.

She is beautiful, astonishingly so. There is an etherealness to her. She is breaktaking, overwhelming, heartstopping. It's as if she has been moulded by the hands of the world's greatest sculptors. She is their muse.

I know a girl...