Elaine
tossed back her long hair, darkly blond, with
a strand before her brow
engoldened by the sun. Her
hair was fine, not thick, silken, and suited
to perfection her long and slender neck,
the delicate bridge of her nose, and finely molded
clavicles arcs of precious porcelain.
Her eyes etched by dark lashes were
of the most shell-like blue yet held they clarity
and brightness of fine crystal.
Tossing
back her long hair like a scarf carelessly
beyond a shoulder without a backward glance
or glim Elaine clasped
her hands in her lap.
It
was a slender lap, and graceful, the way the
folds of her light skirt gathered and fell
over her crossed thighs revealing only the
toes of her fashionable boots placed
together
seemingly without attention to
their positioning while in reality situated
as precisely as 2 linked hearts on the
candy box centered in the store window for
Valentine's Day.
She could not maintain her silence in joy
and leapt up, took a bold
step, another, 1 way, another, laughed again;
her pale skirts were like sails set against the darkening
trees,
reflecting back to us reverberant light
of the meadow's heart.
She
did not need to speak to tell us of her wondrous
and consuming love.
Consuming?
Nay, blossoming, burgeoning in
constant marvel it displayed the myriad forms
of love unmasked.
Unbidden,
yet, there.