to be frail
is a beautiful thing
I think.

with those thin wrists
writ from sheets of unlined paper
and wrought with simple weak.

with those delicate bones
daring to disintegrate
with the lightest brush touch. 

with those supple eyes
wide but suffused of colour
used of black and grey. 

with those delicate movements
from those who do not divide
and the dance with pinned wrists from those who add.

with those lacy eyed lashes
that listen and lapse the lone deserved 
lost in a world of felt and move.