YUHAN AO

In a room of tailored grace, you stand alone, Draped in oversized folds, a suit unknown. With whiskey’s burn, the night takes hold, An unseen wall divides the gleam.

Seams exposed, the canvas bare, A deconstructed soul lies there. Rough edges speak of broken ties, Elegance with chaos lies.

From the bars of the sixties’ haze, Where lost souls drift and shadows blaze, Torn collars, frayed and weathered seams, Clothes forgotten, fractured dreams.

Between the threads of class and form, An alien heart, outside the norm. Through every stitch, a story cries The suit that fits but never ties.