moods are shapes.
relaxed is the lolling circulative form about you, the curve in your spine as you stretch, extending to an elongated and elegant neck, pale as the day the sun set and the moon shone the day you were born. The slope of an easy smile carved out onto your face.
anger is the harsh slants of your eyebrows, the straightened out finger that accuses and shames more than words could accomplish. The harsh angles of your face, biting into my heart and shredding; the puppet string straight posture.
