(for Velocity)
Was it the comfortable geometry of angled artwork or the way her knowing hands caressed the stone birthday present of modern architecture?
Was it the diffuse light of cubicle humor or the incandescent color of her hair that refracted like the sun’s harsh revelation of oil on water?
Was it the way her pallor radiated in defiant contrast or the manner in which her shoes braced against an inner tension?
Was it the arch of her back or the delicate curve of shadowed calf whose liaison with spiked heel defined elegant posture and position?
Was it the confidence of her cheek bones? The conical essence of her aureole? The pale perfection of her skin?
Or the cat-like method with which she regarded her possibilities?
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