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Calli Kirra
Poems
May 2021
Just Wait Until I Get Home
He’s a hot crackle on my cold skin
Soft skin of lips on my cautious hand
A real pretty face
Something of my own soul to sink into
Robins egg eyes make a waterfall down my face
Rush across my body
Below the midline,
He finds the summer of me
Written by
Calli Kirra
23/Los Angeles/London
(23/Los Angeles/London)
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