And stain my skin
A dirty purple, with a tinge of ochre
Patterns, which that artist,
The one we studied in art
Who dropped paint on a blank canvas
Bringing stories to life,
Exactly like those.
Your words litter the air around us
Each one a sound wave
Sticking to the surfaces
And then to my skin
Like I said before:
The purple and ochre patterns.
The ones I can't scrub off.