To my mum


You are bread and butter
and breast milk
My cloudy aesthetic
You come back to me like rain
Like a lie,
These feigned memories
I have considered veracious
Your white teeth,
The colour of my writing palette
Your hair the same scent as my vision
All blurred, all abandoned
Too cured, I have forgotten dereliction
In my benediction, I asked
That your essence still lingers here
In the frames they are locked in


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