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Linda Pastan - Vermilion

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Written by Linda Pastan

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 Pierre Bonnard would enter
the museum with a tube of paint
in his pocket and a sable brush.
Then violating the sanctity of one of his own frames he'd add a stroke of vermilion to the skin of a flower.
Just so I stopped you at the door this morning and licking my index finger, removed an invisible crumb from your vermilion mouth.
As if at the ritual moment of departure I had to show you still belonged to me.
As if revision were the purest form of love.


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