Your time is a piñata full of sand
that the past bashes at with rue
sifting through fingers and hands
its sparkle beaten out by a bat at you
status becomes the demand
no longer candy or a fake tattoo
but taxes and the value of land
that vary with the latitude.
love is what we never fully understand
when the heart reaches out in gratitude
it is beyond the dimension in which we stand
but people try to make it flat for you.
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