It was the perfect move,

she had worked hard at it 

None could top it,

not even, herself.

There was no talking,

or any other shift

to cover, or warm

to that, fact.

Plain enough to see,

the sheered beauty

of that truth.

So she did not need

to move, no, more;

 to be moved so.

Sweet stasis, dear solitaire.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s