Wrinkles

He traced her lines, you know the little precious ones that she finds horrible, and has, in sheer despair spent a small fortune to erase, how can you, so said he wipe out the signs of time, it is our destiny, and Nature's way cross linking is what does occur, she glared at him as if to say that men need to accept a share of guilt in this, that modus operandi a testament to time, gone by. Not idly though, he said. He slid, with total ease into the linger mode, and spent sufficient time at each small curve and dip; saliva may restore the look, its healing properties been known for centuries. She smiled, and a small patch of rouge appeared, a little princess flush. The hours drifted by behind the shades, not sure about the rationale of this, the picture of insatiability, which was, now at the hint of Dawn, transformed by androgens and such, he took the time to ascertain that she would be aware, (trance held her tight) , of the now urgent need to venture to the depths of this. All regions would be subject to the stresses of free radicals, (though not the human kind) , and he would volunteer to go and see, observe, inspect, as the computer says, fix all selected items and restore, he was a man whose conscience taught the need for thoroughness in things that did concern the heart, and all of that, you know, romantic stuff. It was, he later found, a task that would ensure the need for maintenance AND for repair, a lifetime of new blemishes and marks. And when the time came that he felt how so much subcutaneous fat had gone, which took away the suppleness of youth, he used his backed-up files, which were composed of livid memories.