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Nov 2021
How vain
     ,thin the
         Paper skin
Coarse, now, built
  Through years of pen and brush
           Dabs and strokes of scent and skins
           Of sights ,  sound
     smell of rosebuds melding.  
          lips wrote thick upon the canvas
turned from micron thin
  into impact on a ground layer upon
layer deep where senses melt all
      Into one  
Bright some bold, a grey that holds
          A mystery of depth,
     Wealth unsold like souls
        remembered loves you'll
            never lose, or
                 grow  old
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