Grace carved a bird, out of the movement between leaves. Wefted and warped, her soft to the selvage. Croft to the cloud. As her finger to beak Brocade December 13, 2021 Leave a Comment Cancel Comment Name* Email* Website
Consider the “fascinating” "field" of “modeling”. Where “agents” “scout” “beauty”, and catalogue its “code” according to "call" "backs" and “measure” "meants". Where “editors” choose “looks” for “fashion” hooks. Where “photographers” “shoot” “stock” with “light” “speed” and “pose” “lock”. Where photos “take” flight in frame “flock”, like peacock "birds" in stunning *pop!* and “migrations”, to “magazines” and "blooms" on “screens”, with “patterns” to “eyes” that "bless" in the "bathe" and "serotone" in the “scenes”. Where women “wear” the “earth” with perennial “fluency”, and “speak” the “flesh” with spiritual “luminancy”. As though the "body" were a "dream" and “literal” "miracle". Which "it" "most" "certainly" “is”. And which is “what" "they" most "brilliantly" "do". "So", "save" "it", "get" "gone", "shut up". With "your" "critic's" "shtick". "Sex" "doesn't" "sell". "Beauty" "illustriously" "gives"
Neither surrender nor sacrifice | Neither synthesis nor sleep || Neither symbol nor samsara ||| Neither samadhi nor sun |||| Neither singularity nor salvation ||||| Neither serpent nor seduction |||| Neither spirit nor silence ||| Neither symphony nor sand || Neither stimulant nor senses | Neither symmetry nor
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