A gem, the thing she knew was hers (but had never ached for any precious stones).  Inhaled was the warm blue osmosis of those eyes.  Then was a motion of  peering, and knowing, but keeping demure all the while.  Silly mini-deer that she was.  Scribbling notes, decanting chords, clumsying moves, a lush chanson.  The arch of the neck rolled in to the scarf that never came off.  The kindness, from head to scuffed boot.

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