Ink and paper,
Dust and water,
Bare necessities.
Ye cover yourselves,
in the corpses of plants long dead.
Or if not
then in synthetic fibres, as false as the images they invoke.
As unreal as the person attempted.
Shadows with mouths, burning in the crowds.
No natural state of being,
No bare skin to be feeling.
Unintentional inunendo.
But you see my point.
Why not try it my way?
Step out of the stitches, break free of the seams,
work from within fabric, push the boundaries.
It's the way to be.
Come dear, dance with me.
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