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Tyrone Ivan Mar 26
My hair touches my soft, huge pillow
And I tuck myself, thinking
Of the bright yellow egg to be prepared by our mother
The next morning
A mother scratches through her hair
Tangled with worries of where
Her husband has been,
To get the wages for eggs
She hopes will make in time for her six year old son
Eyes closed
With rumbling tummy,
Little Tommy, will you wake up to the bright
Yellow sun not only
Your eyes shall see
But shall touch you hopes?
Débijonne Mar 16
by your side
was where i
wanted to stay.

but the universe
suggested we’re
going astray.

maybe we could
wait until this
restarts one day?

but the universe
dictated that we
go our separate ways.
note: at this time of pandemic, please keep flirting and human contact to a minimum. flirt responsibly and practice social distancing. 🤪

— The End —