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Experiences
At the center of boredom is white
Waiting to be turned to pink,
Or yellow,
Or periwinkle.
The outskirts are black,
Thick and encapsulating
As a power outage on a hot summer night.
Underneath boredom is the softness of old denim,
Hanging from the rack at Goodwill.
Love of previous owners
Inscribed in the stretch of the fabric.
Above lays the burn
Of leather seats in the sun,
Cutting through light waves
Toward Coca-Cola and slow cooked ribs.
Boredom is in skin,
Smooth as satin.
Unfreckled and unscarred,
Missing the wrinkles of worry,
Of laughter.
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