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