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Jul 2013
She's too tired to walk,
so I carry her home.
Her soft face touches my neck
as I kiss
and kiss
and kiss
her.
She sometimes yawns,
or lets out a silent wheep.
And I am flattered by the
looks the people give me.
I remember when
I was in her place
in my mother's arms
(Only I was
pretending to sleep).
I envy her.
Written by
Sinai
452
   --- and Ann Beaver
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