The Unknown Woman of the Seine

She. Serenity’s relief adheres to alabaster sleep from the rivers own pale fruit. There is majesty in the tides annihilation that polishes cheek and lip. A smile as slight as sanctity anoints reflections saturated, ineffable. Not even her amused sediment mask could locate her distant shore. She. A blink gives birth to locked gaze that gorges itself upon the unblemished. Possession thickens the surging blood that flows only for the unknowable. He cannot resuscitate, cannot embrace what has drowned, drifted. So, she holds him while he presses plaster to eye, mouth, and nose. She. Preserving fleeting pores that gape beneath the thunder of the adoring gaze. Seraphic visage is captured and crafted with his heartbroken perpetuity. Confessions of devotion wash up on empty banks and sink into blackened silt. Lonely as a legend she leaves him and walks silently into deaths duplication.