Limited edition print

21x15 inches

She clings to stone with naked grace,

wind biting soft along her face.

Each muscle sings, each breath is bare,

she chooses danger, not despair.

No rules, no rope, no promised shore,

just hunger braced against the roar.

The ocean moans but she won’t dive,

she needs the edge to feel alive.

She arches like a bow mid-flight,

a tremble held between delight

and something darker, raw and deep,

the kind of thrill that doesn’t sleep.

She isn’t lost. She isn’t torn.

She is the cliff. She is the storm.

A wildness draped in sculpted flesh,

a rhythm carved from shadow’s thresh.

No one can hold her, none withstand

The woman who will never land.