Her brow furrows;
Two sleek and velvety folds move together between her eyebrows.
They are sand dunes, dynamic and belligerent,
Probing and carving,
Hacking and gouging
A deep cleft, a profound crevice,
An unfathomable abyss.
It channels a fierce gale,
Howling miserably, brimming with melancholy
Downwards, distorting all her beauty.
Her eyes, once gleaming and ebullient
Still glisten, but with tears.
They are drawn to the ground.
Her cheeks, full-bodied and ripe
Now flush and sag with all the weight of worry.
The corners of her mouth falter and tremble
Before dropping and exposing her corpulent lower lip,
Now at its optimum voluptuousness,
An incandescent pastel rouge.
It would be exquisitely beautiful,
If only for the knowledge (tout a fait douleureux)
Of her despair.
Convalescence is facile, but takes times;
Cuddles and kisses restore her.
A dawn, gorgeous and gratifying
Breaks across her visage,
Slowly unfurling and awakening.
Her eyes light up once more;
They glimmer and sparkle with both mischief and radiance.
Her eyebrows and lips dance playfully, animatedly
As she sings (incoherently and nonsensically, but beautifully).
All harsh contours smooth out and disappear -
Farewell to those ugly, transient scars of disquietude.
Not that she was ever unsightly, you understand.
She is always and forever exquisite,
Elle est toujours belle.
But my heart cannot help but leap
When she smiles.