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Sarah
Poems
Mar 2013
You Linger (and a painter dies)
like paint
underneath my fingernails
that charcoal
which looks like
dirt
[I've washed my hands a
THOUSAND
times].
and still you linger.
like oil
never dries on skin
it smears
and smears
and smears and is
eventually
blended in
you linger.
that oil that won't leave my brush
it dries
hardens
crust over night
[a weekend]
you linger and
I can't paint anymore.
Written by
Sarah
F/Oregon
(F/Oregon)
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