A used, abandoned canvas;
An artist who had once filled it with
such bright resplendent swirls
Only to soil it
with the stifling colors of umbrage
a year later-
A dinky bucket pooled with flesh;
But wholly yours..
Yours for the building,
yours for the molding.
Yours for the filling,
and yours for the keeping.
Yet still so utterly yours.
And I can only pray,
pray that you will not
do the same
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