Yang walks in Yins studio of revelations.
Shocked by what he saw,
A masterpiece of the sublime.
Yang sees she painted all the walls,
She splattered bold color on her canvas walls.
This true Pollock, I’m lost in her abstract,
And I see her brush, still in hand.
The paint’s still wet
Yang drops down to his knees,
Still in awe.
Yang wishes to have Yin’s…
To actually finish what one started.
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