Quietly sitting.
Never once anything more than unassuming.
Pithy comments and bouquets of promises
Cannot capture the sparkling oceans within her eyes.
A wallflower of divine intervention and beauty,
She treads softly to leave tracks
In the four chambers of my core.
Yet her mystique, compelling as that of damask rose,
Is palpable.
It thrives on the very solemn essence that holds
My strings together.
And I no longer understand the world without it.
Why would I want to?
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