Myriad wanderers have “known” her,
through defined edges and silvered glass,
as though sketching her portrait was enough,
never reaching beyond the polished line.
But can mirrors still reflect what lies within?
Could the silvered line ever dissolve
for warm hands to gather her portrait?
Every shade, every color, every nuance —
in a space where her light does not return.
Many have bathed in her shimmers,
but none with the courage
to read her silhouette.
Many have sought to claim her skin,
but none that ever truly
felt her breath at nightfall!