I saw you in pink and beige and
blue. You seem to dazzle with nature—rhythmic beauty, slim figure,
round/magnetic face. I will never meet you, nor know you, at best, you’re a
muse and balance, skill to rummage through. You picture well. You’re midway
through your career. You seem to love the strategy behind the camera. I see
arrogance at times—or openness as surety, a few revealing pictures. You have
taken over Twitter—many portraitures, many poses, many captions. I wish I could
say something exposing depth—aside for the obvious, you’re favored by the
masses; you must be well; at moments something spiritual comes through. I shall
linger for a second—rubbing my ears, scratching my knee, or pausing to get
coffee; wondering about what we see—the boundaries on perception, the sweetness
hiding something raw, lethal.
