The line is everything,
it determines the image that will reflect the silhouette in the dark,
it is the instantaneous first impression that makes her,
and tells the observer what kind of a woman she is.

Woman, and the folds of her silhouette,
the colors that trail her gait as she walks through a room,
appear no more basic than fabric covering natural skin,
but it is a grand and exquisite statement so simply made.

Standards are blurred away like creases on old trousers,
this superficial metaphor tells the story for her,
it dictates her ideals and mannerisms,
in today’s world of flailing glamour and visions.

There are far too many ways for us to be easy,
to keep our beautifully fantastical minds in the dark,
but not easy enough to make our lines posh and delicate,
so that our shadows tell our stories for us.


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