She smiled. Her stretching lips forming a mystic gorge across the landscape of her face. Wrinkles blossomed around this gorge like the concentric rings of a giving tree. I traced each ring with my eyes, learning the secrets veiled beneath the woman's kindness. The stories locked away in the stitches of her face. One can't see the scars tucked into the pockets of the woman's wrinkles, but they are there. Countless men had tapped into her to slurp on the sweetest of syrup cradled insided her trunk. But like a god chosen mother whose breasts expanded with each feeding, she grew instead of shrunk, strenghtening with each theft.