There
is no glamour
in
the sad imprints
of
your thighs
spread
wide
licked
with blue
and
forced against
Klein's
sheets.
There
is no pride
in
immortalising
Your
mother's body
In
midnight stains
Losing
yourself
in
the canvas
Breathless
The
fumes leave you dizzy,
Sticky
and exhilarated,
You
lay back
Ready
for the other side.
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