Crouched behind a stereotype,
he looks at her.
Barely able to see past the ivory
halo of light that highlights the edges
of a curved but slim body.

She is smiling,
whispering of her own importance
but ever so slightly gazing up,
billowing lashes blanketing shallow blue eyes.

The pout of a ripe lip,
soft, red, berries.
And the breeze picks up,
hair dancing wildly,
honey under the wink of a suspended sun.

They swoon for her,
in her perfect position.
Hip to one side
and cherry stems for legs.

He is in love with this girl,
this distant figure.
Stagnant in his mind,
a piece of cold cement,
a figment.