Latent Heat
Latent Heat
Does she know the picture she paints
Through a tango of curves
Precursors of want without restraint
The lines of artists have adorned time with such
In praise of this illusive capture
And Da Vinci has mourned the brittle brush
Can she know the pining pang she caused
In his every touch
To know how diligent they could tell her more
As if he tried to speak through glass
And know the weave of silk
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