Black is the colour of my minimal brother’s intellect, the gray streaks in my mother’s hair. Black is the color of my yellow cousin’s smile, the scards upon my neighbor’s wrinkled encounter……we go to meet the realization of makers realizing who we are …realizing tips on how to Are living, and what everyday living is… …we must spin
Getting My epoch poetry To Work
my eyes took your slender fingers & dreamed on them, they thinned imagination into a queen referred to as sheba/nefertiti deeming you royalness/building a fetish of your respective hand…is a means of claiming the truth that hurts by using a chortle, a strategy for capping on (shutting up) someone. Obtaining even talking bout people today’s mamm