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Abstract Painting

@ T H R E E AM

Time is never more illusive

than the dim hour in which

metaphors and linguistics


And then go tell

Revealing what happens when

lovers sit wide awake


in pleasurable solitude


from everything


onto the remnants


the thickness

between fantasy and fact

The tick-tock of the affixxxed clock is never more


than the minutes in which


become poets

Spooning words around lubricated pages

Droughted thoughts embracing

salted sweet tears

of neglected regrets

of dripping desires

The seconds running across the stopwatch are always out of order

when they leave uneven footprints

in the sand of the beach

that is the mind of the dramatist

When lovers

and poets

make love to 3AM

the alarm clock is always the antagonist

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