I will always imagine-
you.
with a
cigarette-
semi-lit,
dangling from your mouth,
like a gay,
oh wait,
James Dean,
eyeing me idly,
like a lion,
eyes prey,
dispensing advice,
in repressed growls,
of affection and irritation,
in absent curls of smoke
while your paw slaps the paint,
on the board in careful,
measured strokes,
who are you talking to?
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