Friday, April 14, 2017

The Company I Kept on Sunday

The sight of you is a picturesque paradox of multiple visual contradictions.

Well set flowing hair,
Crossed arms and legs,
A figure hugging dress,
A practical handbag...
All the while your flat dead stare whispers danger to those whose hearts still feel. Your poker face is a decidedly bored countenance  conveying slight annoyance, yet it quickly gives way to an engaging smile on demand.

With your comportment you perfectly camouflage a razor-sharp mind with an artfully understated exterior.

You excel at luring your hunters into traps of their own devising, mistress of the chase. A fool decieved by your unassuming exterior charges into the fray, with you in his sights, only to impale himself through the heart on the point of his own arrogance.

Your tongue armed with an incisive wit lurks behind the bars of your teeth, sealed behind pursed lips. To all outward appearances you are content to pass for the average wallflower type, but you delight in surprising the adventurer who gambles an opener on you.

Yet you are a gentle soul, compelled by the times to know and master games which might otherwise desolate your heart. With worldly wisdom came hardiness and subtility, weariness of others' falseness and hatred of your own naivety. Your vulnerability became your worst nightmare.

You grew, and now, you live for the thrill of the hunt.

Pity that man that will lastly march you down the aisle, believing himself the victorious hunter.

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