Poetry

too fragile to handle adult conversation

Mrs. Harpy

the harp called me
but not a name not petulant
a struck string rings
arch of her back snuggled
my exposures all stacked
an arsenal of me
you’d use to destroy me she
keeps those secret so
exposed i grow beyond
momentary dexterity
harmonic resonance
more permanent
than compliments
her tuning is sincerely eternal
she never redacts the scale
so i can paint what i wish
my music to become.

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