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She had been around

but under the battle scars I saw something

that set my head spinning

***

A swish of her auburn hair

brushes up a sensation

a touch of her finger

adds a little color

careful strokes, drawing

me into her imagination

then she is leaving

in the scent that lingers

as a fragment of the artist

in the memory that remains

like the canvas

in the gallery of hope that sings

silently, for us

she is returning