Luxuriously languid, lying in the embrace of squared spaces. Separated yet joined.
Sinews of geometry murmuring, uttering silent sonnets upon the plane:
"Herein lies the secret of lean, the irony of the isosceles, the sarcastic right angle."
A quadrilateral endures. Many faces, never the same both ways. Director of the diagonal interpretations.
Sir Mono leads a dance among parallelograms and rectangles. Lo, the recliner sighs:
"Here is my chairmanship in the graph of existence."
Whispering edges, echoing lengths...
Fractured forms ask not what they are, for they bend into ulterior transformations.
Curved thoughts collide at obtuse moments, each rhythm a brief statement of contempt for equilibrium.
Recall, the square outside is not inside the circle's counsel.
Consider enclaves and entrees. Poly-what? Tell me more paths...
Area |
Lying Border |
Cube: Um Crow