Reality, perception and walks in the park

A glove that pinches at finger’s end
Touch that sends a lingering, slender
mingling defender to frolic
in arms of a bear

Overbaring obelisk, how could you dare
to stab the air above?
Noblest of negative spaces
declaring love in long-trained lip service

Glove grips surface
Pinches as fingers bend
Linger and pretend
that remembering friction is not a means to an end
That depending on fiction
will mend unattended torment now bent
on augmenting true testament to who we are
To what it meant

As melancholy floods
the cavern of lament

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