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Closures

Rating: 5.0
The line's a line but drawn oblique.
Each day gives barely half the space.
The blood is work. The flesh is weak.

Mere charm in touch is all technique.
Clear eyes recoil, for nowadays
the line's a line but drawn oblique.

Your body's warm, but shabby chic.
The life you live fills twice your days.
The blood is work. The flesh is weak.

The language falters, so to speak.
The boundaries mock each social grace.
The line's a line but drawn oblique.

The empty word is not unique:
thousands suggest themselves. Always
the blood is work. The flesh is weak.

Futility is all your lesson this week:
the bloodline ends. The feeling stays.
The line's a line but drawn oblique.
The blood is work. The flesh is weak.
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COMMENTS
Jazib Kamalvi 03 April 2021
Such a nice poem, Oliver T. Read my poem, Love and L u s t. Thanks.
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