©George Pitts
I don't want to be a distraction
I want to be the carnival, he says
subtracting the glowing lights of the monotony
and the cacophonous circling of that last one
filling the hole with rawness of the prickly perfections
leaving the lost of the languid lips licked
as the rambling digresses into the soft swirl of
the merry-go-round, we spin in the direction of the sun
hands extended, connected, clasped as one
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