She is not convinced by his words.
She has seen him use them before, showering them like handfuls of confetti over the wide-eyed and the wanton, the gentle and the cruel, the pretty and the good. She knows his vocabulary like she knows the menu in her favourite restaurant. They are an over-played song on her mp3. They are familiar road signs on a map of desire and seduction.
Yet she shares some of the blame. If they had discovered each other earlier he would have realised the true measure and worth of words like beauty and angel . As it is, they now have no currency, no value, no power, when he is describing her.
Yet if ever there was one for whom such words were fashioned, it is she.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Thomas Saliot