Pygmalion's Bride

That's just what perfection does - As hopeful torrid night spills in through stargazing windows Illuminating shadowy grays drawn by God's hand in charcoal on taunt, sepia skin. She simply retracts from you, from the floor, scoffing at all those gaudy tones - the colorful imperfect other. Despite Aristotelian pleas to logic, propriety and function, she teases us seductively dancing motionless in impossible air. Crouching half naked, poised on Platonic tippy-toes with perfect condescending balance as if we'd all been naughty girls and boys, as if a chair were never meant for sitting, and gravity makes her an exception.