Art to life’s strife

Sonnets must ensue with every conversation;

pouring a drink is art…

I must paint over my aversion – to life. Today I am in strife – again.

I remember her: She stares down on my dreams; a spectator with me…

I love her eyes behind thickets; her laughter in a busy city…

The rukus with self is passing… “I am ok, we will be fine,” I hear her voice in her absence.

I am alone, baby, save me…

You are the key… unlock my pathos, I want to live, venture in it…art

Or… I am a mere snippet.

I must drink her love from the start; Epistles induce in our kiss.

Seeping romance is art… the drink pours itself from the start…


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