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Artist
She stands where stars begin to bloom, In swirls of night and golden plume, Her dress—a kiss of Klimt’s embrace, A cosmos stitched in velvet grace.
The sky, Van Gogh’s eternal dance, Spins dreams in every painted glance, While Kusama’s dots, like seeds of thought, Unfurl the worlds her soul has caught.
She is the muse of midnight’s fire, A prism born of bold desire, Where art and wonder intertwine— She walks the edge of the divine.