Her skin was perfect… pristine.
I imagined her having sex.
Perfect and perfunctory..
There would be no wobble.
She would be loud from the throat but not the gut.
Did she sweat I wondered?
She sipped on water and chewed on lettuce.
How sad I thought.
I turned away to gaze at the ducks.
Calm on the surface.
She seemed stagnant to the core.
A child tripped over, sprawled on the floor.
Miss perfect’s lips turned up at the edges.
A splendid,slow sneer,slithered across her face.
I saw malice in those cerulean blues
And felt a chill in my blood.
And pity.So much pity
For a world that trusts perfection.