Sometimes when you’re sitting down doing what you should do (like writing about genderless language and the singular “they”) a bunny hops by and your muse follows. And then you think you are going to write something a little more out there (like how an NPC is worth a thousands words).
And nope, the muse yawns and that’s not happening either. So you follow her down the bunny trail, out the front door and into the woods at sunrise, then down the rabbit hole and back. Next thing you know it’s hours later and you’re in front of the computer and this is on the page:
Dawn’s gold rods
sequined in a pearl-dropped meadow.
He hasn’t come in all this time.
A palace of sensuality
sacrificed to a silicone mistress.
Pale wife, technology.