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Clara
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Clara, my beloved guitar player
Beauty was the mystery of her
Wonderment of her eye husked with passion
Dread of a lifetime intonation cleft a glimpse of perfection
She clipped the string as I nod within that melody
Her pure slimy fingers trimmed the guitar's abnormality
She plough the strings while I was clouded with suspense
She broke her hip after shunning the guitar’s defiance
Hours later, I admit, this beauty was a coincidence
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