A glass tadpole on his cheek:
nobody wants to see that.
The upscrape-downscrape
through white scum-and-suds
uncovers a strip of pink, as
the windowcleaner squeaks his T-blade
to make transparency more transparent.
Best way to void the teardrop:
lose it in a sinkful of clear beads
and drips, water that bulges, swells
as hands move through it, cupping upward
hiding the face a moment, then passing by.
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