he says, you look beautiful. he says, nobody will be able to take their eyes of you. he says, your lips are soft and full and meaty like a good steak that i want to devour. he says, there is a glow on you that refuses to go away. he says, they will know.
it is true, they always do. they see the handywork, they understand the effect, and they try to find this magician that can perform the miracle of glamour, the beauty caster, the vigorus chef that cooks bodies in their own heat and sweat, until they turn into something so delectable, he commits gluttony on them.
there is no magician, no chef, no caster. it is all the talent deep inside that pours then dries out, the hands that lament a master while they shape the beauty, the brains that refuse to quit even when everything else is beat.
and she looks beautiful still. it will soon fade, absorbed by the mediocre, the hungry who can never get their fill because they keep spitting it out instead of swallowing it, and those strange creatures who can only flourish while all faces around them are drained and doped.
but while she looks beautiful and he looks on, life blooms and the skies turn blue. because he said, you look beautiful today.