Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, Pablo Picasso, 1907
We are strangers to each other but not to him, Picasso; whose calculating heart gathers us, paints us, pastes us, and collages us into cubes of of memento mori, the death rattle when a love affair ends, each of us will turn into a
canvas of confession like above,
we who he loved first, last or still doesn't matter,
all of us us captured and framed will beg for air eternally...
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