Soliloquys

        Is difficult to catch, much like the dandelion’s seed, 
        It evades your clutches as you reach out –
        In desperate need.
        
        Eludes the most nimble of writers. 
        Yet, when fingers are relaxed, 
        Hand held open, wrist lax;
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        It lands softly on prone wrist, not repulsed – 
        It’s fluttering quickening 
        The creative pulse.