She has that pronounced, rounded aboriginal jaw.
South American highlands, horse country. The Campo.
An equine mouth pushed out, and deep set, adamantine
eyes. A compact slender body so that she is lithe in
crowds.

Her chin and nose share an aquiline plane, her eyes are
a narrowed semi-precious stone: garnet, low grade
Indian rubies. She placates older men with a politician’s
smile. Her head is given to a wanderlust tilt, pulled to the
horizon.

Exercise agitated, she is bench reposed. Splayed and
heaving and red dimpled skin the like flesh of a grapefruit.
American blonde, archetypal in build. That comfortable
lack of guile of honest blue eyes. How easily the horde is
hers.