Loosening around the edges,
With screws tweaked hard until they’re embedded deep.
Frothy blackened ink flows with silkiness,
Out across the indents to smear your tools.
Graceful and petulant the grime shines,
A mirrored tone that shakes each reflection.
Fingers slide off in an impatient rush,
Avoiding the wandering glaze seeping out with each torque.
Whetstone polish to sharpen the blade,
That soldiering behemoth of broken muse will never do as bade.