#tangledaxon

I spent yesterday and today with my wondrous writer in quiet languor, watching her with the devouring eyes of a lover, with subtle awe and sidelong intensity. Sometimes her beauty would catch me unawares as afternoon sun streamed through the window blinds, illuminating her in uneven gold. Sometimes I gazed at her while she spoke of passion and excitement, and drank in the angles of her face and the brilliance of her wolf eyes. 

How can I describe her to you? They say a picture is worth a thousand words but a picture can only barely capture movement and only barely show spirit... more often, just a glimpse of the mind and heart and soul that shines through the body's animation. How can I possibly convey to you even a facet of her being? Even just her physical beauty?

I could write of her body: enviable hourglass curves, white-gold skin patterned with intricate cascades of ink, the cleverness of her hands. I could tell you of her features, elegant and stark: the high sweeping arches of her cheekbones, the definitive arches and curves of her mouth, the sleek shine of mahogany hair. I could write of the strength of her jaw that saves her face from china-doll delicacy and transforms it instead into perfect, powerful balance with a hint of androgyny... from merely "pretty" to truly, starkly beautiful.

I could write pages of poetry to her eyes: the almond tilt of them, the dark outer ring, the irises all shades of green and gray shot through with the golden rays that radiate from the deepness of the pupil, the clear-water depths, the way her eyes seem to go incandescent in the sunlight.

I am struck dumb, at times, by my fortune. How did I, plain and ordinary and reserved, fall into the heart of this otherworldly woman with her bursting passion and her brilliant mind and her uncanny beauty? 

I try not to question it too much. Suffice to say that I am rich in beauty and wealthy in love, fortunate and in awe, grateful and blessed.