Well chiseled, a row pearly dear
And every word hang by
Breathless pleasure
Perhaps
then you fall in love,
Till,
until too familiar a sight
Then perhaps fall out of love
And see macabre mole chiseled beside
And a blackhead of a sight
the jarring treble
And then the fall out.
huh...how do you think this way? The intellectual clarity almost kills.
ReplyDeleteclarity?
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