Twisting and stretching, she came through the fogs of an eve's tale,

Amazingly and amazedly she looked at the surrounding nothingness,

Wan and delicate was her face, under her back,

A pale and fragile picture of beauty, marred by loud movements,

As all looked on awed and amazed,

By the nothing surrounding that she lacked.

Stretching and stringing new chapters to the tale,

Stomach and breast changed place on the stand,

Free and knotted, as perfect a paradox as can be,

Bound but to boundlessness was her form, spirits soaring on her floor, 

None stomached what then came,

As the tale was then closed be the eve.