The erotised girl-childs in the writings of John Ruskin are often described as hard, impenetrable, breathtakingly beautiful jewels, crystals and stones. Young flesh is taut and pristine, untarnished by the weight of womanhood.
The crystalline jewels of my sweet, sticky toffee speak of my own desire to hold onto girlishness, as time slowly dissolves their sharp edges and angled curves. As the heavy weight of femininity presses down upon them they ooze into formlessness, lost within the great expanse of their maturing flesh.
