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love lives on the bathroom walls
in scribbles, scrapes, and hasty scrawls;
love brief enough to be erased
before the clock a day hath paced;
love’s writers lust and crave and yearn,
but seldom give and seldom earn,
for few possess the simple grace
to let love look behind their face;
and yet, it seems love will appear
inscribed twixt every wall and mirror;
and though its purity seems poor,
love greater insults shall endure.