Lies weaving into,
lies which bred.
Upon the truths,
that stunk.
I have baked,
This scrumptious
green cake.
for you.
The sweetness,
an exact measure.
Of my love
for you.
Thirty four
Thirty three
Thirty two
and thirty one kisses
for you.
A work of fiction. And thats what happens when I do not eat paints for a long while.
1 comment:
Surreal. Brilliant. I'm not sure I understand it all but... it's very evocative.
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