Curls. A twisted tower of soft ivory ringlets inviting every finger of any human hand to put it's sensory capabilities to work. Smile. A slightly parted sea of shimmering pink iridescence singing the sultry song of the siren without uttering any actual sound. An iris, make it a double. Infectious invitations into a periwinkle dusk with a passionate forever sure to shine in the sworn horizon. Her name. A fact unknown, untold, and given her enthralling essence, a moniker so unimportant. Oh beautiful stranger. Oh gorgeous mystery. My arm for a touch, my leg for only a moment of such company. Magic. A disappearing act, showcasing only her ability to escape the gaze of all that stare. How I loved her. Sadly she felt it none.