The aisle becomes a path of modern art,
Where structure meets the softness of the soul.
A gown of sculpted lines, a work apart,
That makes the fragmented moment purely whole.
With architectural folds and tailored light,
She moves in silk that holds a steady flame;
No longer just a vision dressed in white,
But beauty that no common word can name.
Her skin, a canvas for the morning's dew,
Reflects a quiet, inner-lighted peace;
The old traditions find a spirit new,
As all the world’s frantic noises cease.
In every curve, a future starts to trace,
The timeless power of her modern grace.
The Hand-Stitched Vow
She wears her heart upon a flowing veil,
With hand-stitched lines that tell a secret tale.
A "something blue" in threads of azure pale,
Against the "Cloud Dancer" white, so soft and frail.
Her gloves, of opera length and vintage air,
Reach back to eras where the glamour bloomed;
While "Poetcore" and lace are in her hair,
To show a love that never was entombed.
This day is not a script of rigid ways,
But immersive scenes where every sense is fed;
A celebration of her radiant days,
And all the words that wait to be softly said.
Beneath the Juliet cap, her eyes shine bright,
The guiding star of this, her sacred night.
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