She looked like she was dressed in changing flora with snowy mountains tinted with pink snow and a wisp of cloud.
Ethereal existence weighted down by the dark spiderwebs in her eyes.
She would toss her hair about like a rockstar and her formidable pheromone aroma would draw in wolves from the hills.
All the boys in the neighborhood grocery would instantly grow mighty redwoods in their pants that reviled the cedars of Lebanon as she shopped for juicy cantaloupes.
And she would toss her hair around laughing at them as she knew all men and laughed at them.
They will succumb to where they no longer belong and then they will challenge her need for freedom.
And all men shall become monks for her and will never know the taste of a woman.
A woman like her who was been haunted by the tangy taste of a flowering bride.
Yet, she is Geia and she knows all men and women and their taste in her mouth is good.
---The paper was found on August 24, 2011 signed with the initials CM, TR, AK, and WL