you are settled into the folds of my skin
dust in the wrinkles of my brow, sweat
in the crease between my breasts, earth
in the lines across my palms. you have
wrapped yourself around me like the
potent humidity in the air that presses
on my lungs like a vice.
you refuse to be washed away in baths
of the ink that stains my journals and
my body is coated in you, still.
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