2004-03-03 @ 9:34 p.m.
Charming me with pearls in hand on each hand and pierced into ears, 'round her neck slung, pretty, limp and lifeless, a dead beauty, and their mother wept openly from the wetness of her shell.
Transluscent, light-hued, they're light in their own right, glowing from a core unlike an apple's. Rings, earrings, necklaces, pearls, oh, pearls are milk-fed diamonds.
A glimmer upon an eyelash flutter, short reflections of light bounce from pearls and into eyes that stare, intent. They work to mirror themselves like charmers do, trying to get at our wallets with greedy little hands.
No thumbs, though. Pearls have no thumbs.
everything © Claudia (2003-2008)