022/365 09/12/2025

The Starlet. Shall we compare thee to a summer’s day? Wish that we could be a glove upon that hand? That hand upon that cheek? How about one piece of originality as we stare, transfixed: she extends delicate fingers out and out and out, and doesn’t pick up the wine glass. Oh, no. As she listens with rapt attention (faked?) to the producer as he guffaws his way through some kind of tale, heaving and thens between gasping breaths—and then, and then, and then—when we all know it should be but or therefore. But we get ahead of ourselves. 

The Starlet extends one delicate hand out and out and out like a movie spaceman. That kind of delicate speed and motion. And she alights a fingertip delicately (so delicately) on the wine glass’ rim, her smile radiating. Eyes glistening and grabbing attention from all over the room. The simple move. The finger tip. Our hearts swell, and we are in love.