Her eyes are cradled in the shadows
Cast by the curtain of her brows
Her button nose sits freckled with speckles
Her snout presses into a thin line
Bunching her cheeks into soft pillows
Her dishevelled mane flows down her shoulder
And spills over her bosom.
Her breasts bend down to kiss the swell of her belly,
Crowned by pale crooked twigs;
The pudgy tentacles of her long hands
Adorn age lines;
Her skin cuts deep into her waist and pours down
Her broad hips
Held together by her love handles;
Climbing down her curved back
Her derriere rises to reach its peak
It falls before her thighs begin
White furrows snake their way to
The black of her knees
And where her full calves end,
Her feet fan out.
A rebel against perfection
Yes, she truly was a catastrophe.
In every form unacceptable and unfathomable