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by Louis McKee

We stood for the longest time
in front of one painting
while you were explaining cross-hatching,
and I looked back and forth
from the colorful Avery seascape
to you, and I imagined you naked,
and running along those pink sands,
from the striped cabanas to the yellow sea,
naked in the MOMA on a cold November day
when Avery has me believing
in the seashore, and you have me
believing in what goes on
under the paint, just beneath the surface.


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