paint

he wears a hat and a moustache

and has been to places and through things

in his mind.

he looks straight ahead,

but diffusely so

and keeps things to himself.

she, wearing red — velvet or silk, one cannot tell —

has put up her hair for the night.

she knows about the poise she’s got,

but has moved on from its allure

for it’s caused things

some folks could not handle so well;

she’s on to deeper mysteries these days.

they lean onto each other,

as if they were the only ones in this place.

but they do so from separate canvases,

ready to leap

as we speak.

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