She raindrops
with ghoulish grace
bonelessly limpid, she drizzles
a guitar at the precipice.

Falling with purpose
from pearled light, she elbows her way
from the pink of a translucent shell
held in calloused seaworthy hands

A well lit kitchen
A room of burnt toast and crystalline juice
bitter coffee warmed by clichés
obscures the muse’s

Don your glasses dear
Let her in.

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