Nuances Matter: Poetry is a Mistress

The subtlety of sultry
does not hide well among the obvious!
We catch each others meter
across the crowded parlor
and steal off to the wings
for sodden romantic whispers.

Her muted presence is a cloud born
particle of dust –
gathering the purest droplets,
to fall, and
falling waters accreting
into mighty earth churning rivers.

Shamefully, perhaps by nature of a poet,
my proclivity is to paint her up
like a dime-store tart,
parade her around in metaphors
under my propped writing arm.
Oh how these nuances matter.

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