Aria

this trifle of faces is the foundation
for my dreams streaked by muddy nudes and jewel tones
alternating with prints in pink and blue
staining downwards the monochrome pieces of cloth
down where they soak up anything they can get
if it existed this retrospective arrangement
if it weren’t for the sediment of fresh faces
still juicy with pigment and glue
still thick with house beats and sweat
full of the fantasy you can disavow time
the individual layers hint at the importance of being extra
of sebum and
but fall short with their unmeasured polka-dots grime I commemorate this transformation
of who I am to be with who I am no longer
as if anything could be wiped entirely clean
only together can you trace the way I bleed