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Picasso's Dora Maar and the Village Idiot I like your picture Dora Maar. I would know you from it anywhere. Your green-red-rose, pale-white skin a flawless union awash in morning yellow. "I don't look normal." Your forehead is unafraid of your steelgreen hair. Obedient in front and disciplined behind your shoulder. It is the choppiness of the Mediterranean against a long deep pier. "You are a handsome idiot." Handsomeness is an attribute of idiocy. "All I ever wanted was beauty." You may have mine. I would rather observe the conversation of your eyes that stare into each other. One salmon, one white as if you have two souls. "Only an idiot could find me beautiful." I find you perfect as a picture. Traipsing red nails on rigid fingers direct me to your lyric clef ear like an invitation. "If one finds me beautiful no other critic matters." When I first saw your picture I wanted to kiss it's strict nose with two left nostrils and free you from your sleep of canvas. "I long for your dumbstruck, perfect lips pressed against the one blandness of my face." Obtuseness is all that's worth kissing.
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