This book will soothe, not snag. The subtleties of construction could be enjoyed just for themselves. Or one could let the iambs and the glissando take one for a measured ride. Galatea Her face is like a feather, but her skull is more a stone. Her hair is coiled in dreadlocks that resist the sculptor's comb.
Stalagtite stoicism is bred deeper than the bone.
She rises very early, and she always sleeps alone. Her every morning walk is briskly clipped and measured so she never stops to talk of alabaster fountains or foundations of basalt. She models flesh of perfect form while posing on her block, so stiff, she never winces while cosmetic chisels knock her less than lovely bits away. A stone may only mock the breath that shatters life, and she is marble, solid rock. A Small Garlic Press.