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Colleen
Poems
May 2022
greased
i won’t wash my walls
for a reminder
of where you used
to touch
i won’t look at my skin
in absence
of where you drove
in the valleys
of my figure
i won’t wash my walls
your fingers
stay hung on display
when they should be
where you laid
underneath my framework
in the bed we made
Written by
Colleen
25/F
(25/F)
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guy scutellaro
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