At the bar where I work (and work), when after an interview the drunken reporter asked me “Are you a tit man or an ass man?” I replied:
“High cheekbones” (improvising a little on my favorite poet, whose name is Karl Shapiro):
Verlaine compares the buttocks and the breasts:
Buttocks the holy throne of the indecencies. Breasts savored by drunken lips and the tongue. Buttocks with their ravine of rose and somber shadow, where desire prowls when love goes crazy. Breasts proud and victorious, breasts heavy and powerful. Buttocks, beloved cushions, with voluptuous fold for your face or your sex. Oh, holy quaternity of sacred breasts and august buttocks.
The Slavic typist had high cheekbones and gigantic mouth and a voice like sleep. The Kyoto hostess naturally. Marelene, Medea, and women proud as Tartars, women with marvelous voices and big feet have high cheekbones and dress their hair to a height. In overcivilized rooms you will always find one or two.
Gloire, Vrai, et cetera.
7 Responses and Counting...
Leave it to Verlaine to illustrate such comparisons so well.
“Oft do I dream this strange and penetrating dream…”
Hi Gloria! It’s nice to see you here.
Thank you for your comment, and thank you for dropping by.
I may not have much, but I have big feet and high cheekbones. ;-P http://instagram.com/p/dS0jxxP73g/
Love the photo, Yo-hawna Kokjohn.
Ah wonderful, there is hope yet in the world for us high-cheeked women! I have yet to hear of that as a type!
It’s good to hear from you, Kaysha. I hope you and your high-cheekbones are well in Spain. Please keep in touch.
Thank you for dropping by.