• Victoria Chwa


host of the night:

her hair: flow like the bird’s wings –

free from Cage; first taste of wind. pure silk in snow!

on top: donning a floral crochet pattern

and a chiffon-lined, pleated skirt;

champagne velvet-lace sash for a waistband –

Rosso Corsa painted lips and matching obsidian eyes –

an artist of her own.

beauty, of no words.

skin-showing, above-the-knee,

the boldness of her style, brave –

the honesty in her speech, poised –

the grace of her stance, refined –

the radiance in her smile, sincere –

the iridescence in her eyes, passionate –

the shape of her breasts, complementing

but upon elegance, she built her presence. from here, I can see

all eyes on her as she walked in.

they know her for a woman of dignity and honour

they see her past her beauty, but so naturally

out of the ordinary, they do

willingly. she sat at the VIP dinner table

as she always does –

still, with her heart in her hand,

helped the teenaged waitress-girl clean up the spilt caviar,

and they stand up


she left me one of her smiles –

tainted caviar on a tray –

I walked back to prepare a new serving.

originally published: 29 Oct 2015

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