She had a pocket of a heart,
Kept gilded as enshrined in shining glare
Being hung as was slung under the neck
Across those poking shoulder blades,
Because that was where rubbed bare
Was to keep those brave wrecks,
In a jail for berating the typical days
And letting go to the tympanic beating
Of the rare storm torn & trembling free,
The musical crescendo of a dream living to be.