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Artist Of Affection
Hillary Garrett |
I paint the inner ramparts of my chest,
Baiting the conscious mind with illustration.
It is an empty room;
A vacancy too motionless to inquire attention,
A stillness too persistent to ignore.
Hearts are prone to auction,
I'll start the bidding at his affection.
But first,
Let me paint.
That he may later revel in the sound,
Of his reverberating footsteps,
Within newly coated walls.
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