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She is a vase,
Made of crystal and cream --
Smooth and soft,
Fluffy like chick down,
And dominating the lines,
Leading to the base of her flower,
That is her smile and gaze.
She is plastic,
And I am her current dream --
Crude and set aloft,
From whence am blown,
When no such sun shines,
To reveal places in the shower,
Where the sun plays.
Yet she and I are steam,
Behind her I stream --
Strewn about her toft,
And she in glittering glass shown,
When the memories are mine,
And I muse of remembered power,
On rain-filled days.
Invino Veritas
7/11/13
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