-
-
- Tell me about your
sunshine
- and the sounds of
coffee
- and of barefeet
pounding the earthen floor
- the creaking trees
- and the skinned
memory of hugs
- you gave
- and you received.
- Sit down, yes, here,
- the intermittent
sobbing
- of the shades
- slit by your golden
face.
- Now listen to the
hundred children
- that are your womb.
- I am among them.
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