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 counter attack

were ever you broken
how else could you know
the pattern reserved
for a now shattered cup
of vines caressing
the fragile gilt edge
– were wishing for more
than a thimble

tipped beyond
reasonable
longing to stay
when scattered as dust
to the boards
porcelain slivers
grieve now the stain
was left of a kiss
by the fall

. . .