poetry critical

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She's wearing a sympathetic scowl, and an evaporated blink.
The fluttering sparkle of her eyes, dried juiceless.
Not even a sideways glance.
She recently doled out every last wisp of fog in her, and it was enough.
The loneliest risk, not wasted.
Eyes forward,
She keeps glaring gently,
Like a waking beast.

10 Nov 17

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