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The poet you never were

"I very well know you see through metaphors.
Yes, your eyes are deforming.
You see others than the real ones.
How is it dawning?" she asks you. She's asking you, go ahead and answer.
"How should it be dawning? Like it always does."
"Describe for me, what the mornings look like for you."
You remain dumbfounded.
"Yes, yes, I will."

The poet you never were,
she constructed him for you.

Why not be at leisure?
You have time.
She is still gorgeous.