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Oct 2019
I made a batch of pepper steak to make my ex-wife happy.

I tapped into my clutch of over-buttered eggs to scrap together a bit of food to show that I'm real.

I flapped a pair of fragile barbeque wings, and sang her a song.

I piped icing into a long string of lies that wouldn't last so long.
"Larry Marshall:  Your poems are like your comment. Thrown together and nonsesical(sic)"
T R S
Written by
T R S  29/M
(29/M)   
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