Guilt rip

It’s all hard for the soft arts
Sharp for the dull parts
Hands full of cloves
Let go
Into the wilds of my eyes
Brows furrowed and wide
And the middling tick tick
Of a clock set for lovers
Don’t think of the time
Till the time is all over
Each thought I touch is stinging raw
Poured through mash and mesh
I love the dark oak sighs
The shifting ripples of sand
Cloves spilling from my hands

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