Muddied Eve

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In this desert of hours—one remains without water—three voices wet
within a single throat—unable quench the silence. Muddied Eve,
naked without the sage, tossed into vile heat,
denied puddles in which to wash,
erase the cracks
each a path that only leads to deprivation. Blisters—though reveal minor truth,
become translucent in the setting sun
—lack ability to blend,
to hush deafening whispers—to provide
a shore within.

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