My girl, she built like a bell, like the Liberty Bell, with the crack along one side. A tall, languid bell, all soft-hewn along the sides, like the repetition of fingers on a potter's wheel. I don't know if they spin bells like that, but that how she look.

What I mean is, I'm not saying she shaped like an "A" with nothing up top. She got it all up top too, but it's them hips that get me. She got a tummy, but it's long, and when she walks it's slow 'cause she know she got a lot to move all at once.

When she walk to me from far away, she comes up to me as if out from the ground, from the earth, like a vapor, like morning mist. She walks and you can almost hear the bell chiming with each step. She got a bell in her, somehow.

You my girl, my bell, 'cause only I hear it ring. It sound like the hollow bells up in the air, church time to call the sinners in. When I pull you to me in the dark, it's just like when someone try to quiet a ringing bell. That odd little thunk. When I tighten you, you make the noise. And it's my noise, my slope-necked and softened bell.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.