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Time fleshes to baskets,
bound with pleasure and pain,
like neurosis, tightly woven.

Pain constricts the warp,
pleasure loosens the weave.
Tangled, they hold memories;
yet with tears, but a sieve.

Droughtless sponges
rooted to the well of souls.
Too many insecured,
blanch to dryness, desert.

Without as within.
Feel the emotion
to water