Wax drips onto watercolour paintings,
Distorting colour and ordered lines,
Geometric shapes oozing through the fabric of the paper.
Picasso wouldn't mind, I suppose-
"Artistic licence" - making something new,
Instead of ruining a classic.
Dali's clocks already melted,
Butter-smooth over wicker branches,
Lazy arms of a dying oak,
Like a banquet waiter, cloth over forearm,
"Anything else, sir?"
Dripping wax like clocks and soft sugar spills,
Butter melting in the sun.
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