For sure sparks flew
Sometimes on a dime, a dozen
More often than not prone to being frozen
To a pink wicker-chair for all of the world to see
Watch them travail whilst equally unravel – agony
A sneaky and underlying suspicion that it will all return
Time again
Sky-sent, lent this crazily wavering, inexplicable flavour of creativity
Seems it was borne into them from the beginning
Like an engine carrying its very own motor
Floating far above and beyond
Nit-picking perfectly, graciously, at all that they may just need
Breathing hard – inhaling the good as much as the bad
Turns out bad can indeed be good too
No such crutches necessary
Flip it ninety degrees, welcome right in the penultimate juxtaposition supreme
To possibly within an inch of their enigmatic life
An insatiable hunger going on inside
C0ursing, tumbling, then coursing again

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