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Nov 2020
Like tulips of the spring,
burns ornate pores of my dark.
An array of greys and black
to disguise flesh as rainbow smudged by the scars.

Your accidental touch,
my aloof heart,
set up the incantation.
Will you tell?
How do you dissolve smidgens of spill over my skin.
Akanksha Priyadarshini
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