Sublime

trenchant,

finding the untouched core of herself,

wiry-spry

Nothing in her life was sufficiently interesting or shameful to merit hiding;

Her hair was an indeterminate washed-out chemical color, and most of the emotional muscle tone was gone from her face, though she was still capable of sad, skewed smiles from time to time, forcing the cheer like Christmas lights in the poor part of town.

It was that impossible thing: happiness that does not wilt to reveal the thin shoots of some new desire rising from within it.

verboten

contrivance,

white, arms like carved marble. Definitely she looked athletic, though too pale to be a tennis player; maybe she was a ballerina or a gymnast or even a high diver, practicing late in shadowy indoor pools, echoes and refractions, dark tile. Plunging with arched chest and pointed toes to the bottom of the pool, a silent pow, shiny black swimsuit, bub