sometimes I do not write about
the depth of my grandmother’s gaze,
the texture of wet sand beneath my feet,
or the way people weave through summer rain —
sometimes all I need to write about
is your murderous fart
and my fight for survival.
sometimes I do not write about
the depth of my grandmother’s gaze,
the texture of wet sand beneath my feet,
or the way people weave through summer rain —
sometimes all I need to write about
is your murderous fart
and my fight for survival.
Haha! 🙂 Love it!
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Thank you 🙂
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