Her skin as smooth as fresh snowfall,
with eyes that have the depth of outer space;
complete with all the constellations
and undiscovered galaxies.
A golden waterfall cascades down her spine
and rolls in waves to her waist,
Where it gracefully flows back and forth
like waves crashing on a sandy beach.
Each delicate finger of her elegant hands
knows nothing but a soft touch.
Her mind is full up with
charming ideas and dreams
about lush gardens.

But as the years go by, the soft touch
becomes rough and calloused,
her eyes turn into slits,
and the bright stars get dim
and wane to black.
Her hair dries up and fades to a soft silver
that lies delicately over the brittle bones
of her curved spine.
Her fresh skin becomes as papery
as the leaves that litter the ground
on a forbidding mid-October day.

Every day that passes she rots,
blending in with the earth that surrounds her.
The more her body goes,
the more her mind goes,
until it’s dried up like a dull rag.
Her mind is floating in the stars.
Her body has no use anymore,
except for the inevitable decomposition
back into the soil where she came.