you’re a masterpiece in progress and I’m the painter (Argentina)

these echoes of silence
permeating both my walls and yours
red flannel suits lacking legs
and ghostly dresses lacking arms

you let me be your angel of the shadows
and I let you be the vapor holding me down
stuck in a bathroom tub covered with balloons
and viewed through the vintage glasses of the past

for all of my past screaming about professionals
we aren’t better than amateurs
being judged by a full moon with a clear vision
the clouds having gone away hours ago

but the sky bled its colors of red and purple
and painted them all over us
a testament to dreams being more vivid than real life
but will I remember this slice of heaven in the morning?

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