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Dry As A Bone
Imagine an oil stroke on a virgin canvass
an image coaxed out by a velvet hand
pas de deux artist and brush
here comes the wind
and suddenly, I appear out of nowhere
Imagine my memories invisible as air
a non violate kiss somewhere out there
here comes the image,
of a two step process, the artist and I
wonderfully etched, I pop up;
Imagine my visage, aging flower of old
existing in a turbulent rotation
eyes of a cougar, soul of a lion
I am Virginia Woolf the writer
like a binding book I appear pressed
Continued survival on a canvass of dry,
parched as a stone in a pocket, alone...
Copyright ©
Mystic Rose Rose
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