Paint strokes may miss the canvas, but my hands do not miss stroking your face for your foible of misdirected concentration is, I know, just more amore up-filling your palette of inspiration. That which is not abstract is that you are my sun and I live for every perihelion. Alas, this studio can be our hibernaculum, where both creativity and proximity provide warmthful rushes through our veins. If you brush, instead, my hair for a moment, I promise you that the Quadrantids will no longer be closer to heaven than us. ; )

Categories: Melange

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