20/20 vision. I recognize days when I was content with the living often configured as childhood. In an object: incubation.
The girl I want to introduce you to has a name. You can call her Lou, if the formality of her given name resists the easy roll.
Green hair, one eye taped shut. A green lady. A good lady. Her hair extends to her knees. Brown skin, brown brown tinged with the pink undertones of a teenage girl’s foray into rouge.
Due to inexperience, shameful gazes follow. They are absorbed into the fat of her thighs. The body of the monster is far more tender than we will ever deserve to know. She understands this, strategically.