Ceci N’est Pas

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This picture’s not a pipe. That actor’s not a king. Shadows aren’t anything. Wax fruit is never ripe,

no matter how well made or how hungry the sculptor. It can’t be peeled or pulped or turned to lemonade.

I’m sorry to inform you: even the steamiest scene on the most glowing screen won’t substantively warm you.

All that I scrawl across this treacherous blank space fails to be your sweet face. This is not a loss.