It sits upon a sill
in a crystal cognac decanter:
A dried blue thistle leans
in its luminous hilt.

Periwinkle mace floats
over bleached stark stems
grey blades glint a hazy twinkle
ready to prickly tickle your finger.

Faded green dagger leaves scale
up hard ecru ropes
jagged edges itch to scratch your palm:
They flinty crumble in your hand.

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