Poem for him
where there is love and coffee... and
laughter
and the food is burnt and so is my fingertips
and it doesn't hurt
The weeks are such neat little boxes
Each bow-tied, with myriad moments and stings and songs
Each bow-tied, with myriad moments and stings and songs
The boxes stack up quickly.
when you blink- you have a pyramid of 7.
What are we building and do we like/ endorse the end-product?
when you blink- you have a pyramid of 7.
What are we building and do we like/ endorse the end-product?
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