I
(October)
Beads of sweat
trickled down her temple
Shortly, this action
was accompanied
By a series of rough,
jagged sighs
Each beat rippling
rather violently
Just lounging upon
the cusp of panic
II
(January)
The clocks continued
ticking
As if all was right
with the world
Disgruntled, she
resigned.
Sheathing each young
light
From polishing panic
III
(Present)
Washed away with snow
So was the fire brick
sunset
Suspense not a moment
still
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