Her eyes were like the stars:
Tiny white hot balls of fire,
Surrounded by the vast cold vacuum of space
Her hair was like a summer day:
Moist with humidity,
Bleached white like bone in the desert sun.
Her skin was like a tropical beach:
Dry, dirty, touched by a immeasurable amount of people,
And possibly harboring small clusters of crustaceans.
Her demeanor was that of a monarch:
Erratic, often harsh, and sociopathic,
Much like one of the crazier nobles who contracted syphilis and stayed alive too long after.
I'll remember her as I remember my childhood:
With large gaps missing,
Often plagued by memories of feverish tantrums over trivialities,
And an oppressive older figure looking down on me and delighting in telling me, "No."