That piano-handed man – all eyes riotously arisen to arrive

By the knife-edged pledge of keynote allegiance – he thought that he had it all on-hold midst genial practice aside practical advice

From just one tone-deaf man, and this feeling for affection is completely unfamiliar at being decidedly familial

Appears to finally be on the cusp of a most glorious thrill-spiller wave

There are (a)rtists and, then, there has to have been the (C)apital creators – all of them utterly angst-ridden and perpetrated to make singular, sensuous sense

Just not of themselves, ever …
They feel that dank dark dart sinking precipitously against their stop/start heart and all of these living, seething inadequacies of ours turn out to be far-fetched and over-desirable

We are not uber at play-pretend, whereas they. simply. live. for. it. all. and. all. of. it. all. of. the. time.

Impatient til taking themselves off and away to someplace otherworldly at being visually suggestive

They are in-love with the hard-graft, -craft, just as much as they are with your multi-syllabic eyes for constant desire

They seem to be able to make things grow beneath the Winter snow
Just a helluva whole lot easier when you stop questioning their bare-knuckle brilliance …
And start reconnecting with their bare-naked resilience

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