Blurred vision
I did not know how to fashion her,
Sitting, head forward, on the bench,
Hair spilling over the papers,
Driving my pen with slender fingers.
I did not know what to do with her,
Later, approaching, eyes now raised,
Tears welling, upper lip turned down,
Frustrated vision, longing for breath.
And so I made her into these words,
Skimpy sketch, a half-formed muse,
So barely shaped, a silhouette
That may be her but then again is you.
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