perfect and devoid of flaw.
Dancing bears and unicorns.
Still, and yet they move...
Flowing grace
and escape to wild fantasy.
Not a mote of dust will deface
that porcelain.
Lit from behind
they cast their shadows on my wall.
One of the unicorns has chipped its horn
and it is dead to me.
Never to be loved
for now it is not perfect.
I think I"ll dust them again.
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