There is a woman, confident in a body that is at once pale as light, and dark as the night,
She twirls and twirls, the hem of a star-patterned dress floating into the air,
Dipping in and out of sight within the background of a lovely home, stained black and white.
All of a sudden, she begins to stumble in her beautiful celebration, the world having gone grey,
Though now far clearer. Still, there remains a certain amount of … mystery,
Behind the ancestry of one whose features are at once delicate, yet determined.
Her wide eyes give nothing away in the grayscale. If that stumble would have deterred another,
She refused to have any of it. The lady regained her senses with a step back, like a feather
Onto a still, crystal pond, and with a gentle grasp onto the hem of that flowery skirt,
Whose petals danced and turned with each swish of the silky dress.
She bowed her head into the tone faded with a hint of chocolate, just enough to tingle the senses.
This maiden’s curtsy would command the looks of her stunned audience, With her heels
Knocking against a wooden floor that was may not ever rotten with age, but a suave appeal.
Her head low, those locks of dark hair on her head would wave forward and over shoulders
That carried far, far more than she would, or could, even let on. And when she would rise up,
Once her gaze might consume the beings of a dumbfounded, doubtful group of onlookers,
The world would be filled with colors, the melanin of her skin making her gold, accentuated
By lips painted a dark, enticing ruby. Spreading her arms out, they would all see, those wings
With which she shall fly, shattering a blue sky into dust, going into a state that
We may never live to experience, losing this inspiration, this revival, of grace.


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