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Click hereyou sit there sometimes
like a painting waiting
to be brushed again
you say I am your artist
and my eyes are warm
along the edges of you
when I am close to you
and your sounds are on my skin
like the wet of you
when you lean over my eyes
and I am but humble clay
waiting for your fingers
to make me hard and thick
and your lips
to shape my end
you are the artist then
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