Porcelain and Sheer…

The gown, a web of mist and lace,
Clings to the promise of her form.
It offers shadow, offers grace,
A shield against the coming storm.

Each thread a whisper, thin and slight,
Maps out the landscape of her skin.
The darkness of her nipples, tight,
Are jewels held deep within.

The fabric drapes, a liquid fall,
A ghostly shroud, a silken haze.
It hints at valleys, hides them all
Behind a woven, thin-lit maze.

Where light strikes, it ignites a fire,
A glow that warms the subtle air.
And where the shadows climb up higher,
It leaves a mystery to share.

Her hands, so warm against the white,
Hold more than coffee in their hold.
They hold the dawn, the coming light,
A story waiting to be told.