Dawn's an advert for sunrise, copy of will, mind pour, tame of process and nature; her show will drain liquid man for disposable cups of recyclable heat, kept in tube warm rows stacked vertical that move in tilt noble curves, and deport through his person her weight.
Champion belt thinkers, perceive and taste her needle, found by chance in vast haystacks of binary optical data bits, when light touch's swoosh in trickling dance make fingertips jive and dig her location.
Dawn fans morph in a mass of electron and sub particle continuum switch code, toll in life's quantum the condomic bell, sounding her one name - humanity, ooohing, aarghing and praying to art.
Reality becomes her servant, proves she lies true; that fiction is existence and our dreams but the kind her dazzle mutes, shatters, exploding to soul shards which slip below the love for god's absolute cold constant zero of absence we sense, tense, bend and be when she's shaping us.
Oh ineffable beauty, identity's docket; please go, to return with her bold outline, but delineate what form she will appear in as me. Recognised by you, will I arrive pressed with all the right ink in the rubber stamp light of her sheen?