She Is Balancing On the Edge of Something

She accidentally unleashed her pleasurable inner real It pranced out from the belt at her throat Traveled to the edge of her somber aura Showed itself to be intuitive and wise She watched carefully, mirroring her inner real Fixing things in the reflection of sometimes A haughty aloof reaction that sallied forth in precision Leaving her empathetic aura wondering about her sanity No one notices that she is balancing on an edge of something she is too pretty to try for, so most men avert their eyes downward looking for dumpier specimens with fat necks like their mothers Giving her freedom to study her other selves. There is a grayscale feeling about her today Her inner real feels dangerous and provocative, not unlike a fast-talking, over-confident detective from the forties Her male side comes out and leads her inner real back into her throat.