Shucking her robe
dressed only in heels and her perfect, gleaming skin
she gazed raptly, but calculatingly, at her creation.
Her perfect man.
She had brought him to vital, breathing life
only a brief week before.
Every night out since had been a dream.
Her perfect man.
No matter where she chose to go, what she chose to do
he was the ideal date.
Would, forever, be the flawless companion.
Her perfect man.
This evening would be no different
Another unmatched social event.
Her escort was already impeccably dressed
The only question remaining now-
Voicing her most immediate concern-
"What face shall I give him this evening?"
She had narrowed her choices to six
Perfectly aligned along the top of her bureau
all awaiting her final decision.
Humming softly
she filed her nails and considered
the possibilities before her,
pausing for a moment with a slight frown
to adjust the almost imperceptible
slant to his otherwise faultless bow tie.
Her perfect man.
*This poem was written in response to a prompt by Kirsty Logan at Not Without Poetry for National Poetry Month.
2 comments:
I really like the way you incorporated the prompt words into this story. I'm a huge Twilight Zone fan, this reminds me of 'The After Hours'.
Thanks. I've always loved Twilight Zone. Written stories based on elements in it too.
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