Behind the gossamer thins
Where all light is retained
She sheds her clothing
Secure in the knowledge
That she cannot be seen.
However nothing is further
From the truth... because
I myself created her
And she is quite exposed
To the neurons inside
My inventive mind.
And then, in a flash,
She is gone. Deleted,

Erased, overwritten
By the image of a man
Falling through space
Arms flailing about
Unable to do anything 
To diminish his descent.

(He need not worry.
I am already onto my next
creation.)


© Griffonner 2025