Who is this woman I’ve been flirting circles around for how many cycles now?
She isn’t the woman I used to know — convinced loneliness was the hand Fate dealt, romanticizing herself, and forever standing guard at the gate of her Sacré-Cœur.
She’s fiery like the cosmos, the young and burning blue center of the entire system. All other bodies revolve around her, gravitating inward. She’s not another object simply existing; She’s become the sun.
She’s comfortable. Flushed and purified of her previous sins and willing to accept a new truth from a bearded savior. Now only memories of the forgiven pave the way for a new trespasser.
Like a new crush, I’m obsessed with this woman; Her laughter could saturate every cathedral rafter with silvery delight. Her hips sway to a silent song with every step. Her azure irises fixate on the heavens hazed by Saturday night festivities, ravenously consumed alongside the second Christ. Coming again.
Who is this woman? I’m not asking about her magnificence… That’s been evident all along, but I don’t believe I’ve ever met her before… this woman “improved” by the presence of man.