télos is a tumblelog.

Edith

Her dress begins at ten perfectly manicured burgundy colored toenails. Rose imprints rise upward along a sheer path of pleats and hems, up and across a bosom kept soft by youth’s touch. It ends at her shoulder straps halfway covered by golden hair. She laughs, holding a glass as her eyes squint. The red wine bobs up to the lip of her glass, and it’s about to drip or jump over on her hand, then to the floor where speckles will make a poka-dot pattern that you can use to trace the path of  tonights happy events. All those unsteady and irregular sways and fits of her hand are brought on by an easy and uncontrollable laughter that imbibing brings while in the company of trusted friends. She’ll remember tonight just like that night when two friends left for distant places. Except now they return wiser and more womanly than when she said, “I’ll miss you.”