Paintbrush

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Paintbrush

tucked in your hand,

that artifact paints

berry-infused blush onto

my cheek.

Morning glory eyes drain

the last of the pthalo blue.

You drop the brush, re-do your braid,

then mix more pigment.

These timeless vessels have drawn 

life from rock and blood and arsenic—

and I wonder, when

I look behind the polymer layers,

who you are truly

trying to portray.






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