It demurely shakes off the paleo-dust,
A little callipygian, verbal beast.
A coquette of syllable recognition,
And some long interred desire.
A fire I'd grown inured against.
Some arcane tongue sprung up
Between the cracks in our modern language.
It matches a need I have, quite point-device,
Rolling ball, blank ink, point: extra fine.
Come here, little darling.
I won't lose you again.
But the world sees only your awkward corners.
Come home with me,
And let me run your hyphen across my lips.
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