Tuesday 2 June 2015

Klein

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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