Uncertainty.

She wore her comely edge like the frayed hem of her dress
Uncertain of its origin
Derived from possibly the delicate nature of the fabric and/or her soul
It could be the curve of her nose, or the dip that slips to her lips
Or how and like the dress flows until frayed
The comeliness that is predictable and obvious to the voyeur
But to her, she sees...
The tattered hem that is so much like her
Even as the lace grabs her bosom, accentuating
Drawing ever closer those that would or should see her faltering grace
Maybe not, as her mouth shines a luminous red
So does the roses embroidery delicately on the landscape of her silken dress
And it is all about the comeliness of uncertainty
This common thread of humanness and frayed edges