Figure (an acrostic poem)

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Finding men talking about her curves all the time was quite tiresome

It made her wish they were a little less… conical

Geometrical arguments be what they may, the boys never added things up correctly

Underestimating her desire to derive their equations

Relying on a vanishingly small probability that she would be impressed by the results

Especially since their plots would undoubtedly be too small and dreadfully unenlightening

Silver (an acrostic poem)

 

She scowled at her reflection 

It was all angles, scars, and knots of muscle

Leaving her bereft of the soft curves she knew he desired 

Vapor poured into the window behind her 

Envisioning what was about to happen, she punched her image, shattering it 

Reaching for a shard, she let it fly, impaling the coalescing vampire.  “How about that curve?” she muttered. 

 

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