I really do not know what made it art.
Was it her eyes, which could see past my soul;
Or how she stood, splitting the light apart?
Perhaps it was not one thing but the whole;
The way she seems naked while fully clothed;
How she performed actions while standing still,
Like changing what you loved and what you loathed.
Was it how she would let you drink your fill?
She was patient as you traced every hair,
Silent as you wondered at her lip’s words.
Maybe it was all math for all its flair,
She was, after all, broken into thirds.
Whatever the case, when I saw her there
I learned I may have never seen elsewhere...
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