Some bit of prose.

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This is a little something I wrote when I was supposed to be paying attention in a class. I hope you enjoy. ————– She’s beautiful. That’s the first thing I notice when she walks in. In a class where I&rsq...

This is a little something I wrote when I was supposed to be paying attention in a class. I hope you enjoy.

————–

She’s beautiful.

That’s the first thing I notice when she walks in.

In a class where I’m trying to pay attention to Prufrock’s lament, to Woolf’s window, to Ausenbach’s obsession, she catches my eye as she walks in and sits down.

She definitely has that beauty that makes you notice. I mean, how could any red-blooded man/woman not notice her?

Her skin reminds me of that color of earth one sees after a desert rain; a pale cream color with just the tiniest hint of blush.

She has some delicate features, like one of Bernini’s angel’s. Her nose may be a little big, but that’s fine with me. Her figure is lean and medium.

Is she an athlete? I think she is, or at least she partakes in some sort of physical activity. It certainly shows.

My eyes roll down the curve of her knee, her calf, her shin, to her delicate right foot. On the top of her foot, there’s a tattoo of wings outstretched.

For some reason, it reminds me not of Cupid, that winged messenger of love. Rather, it reminds me of Hermes, that other god who never really fell in love, except for Pan’s mother (maybe).

Her hair is dyed, but you can still see the original color in the roots. It’s like that tasty Mexican candy from my childhood-that spicy sweet mix of red chile with brown sugar.

She’s beautiful.

And I wonder if she knows that I think so.

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