Sunday, 26 December 2021

My girl

 The sweet pickle is here with us

my ittle pumpkin

with her melancholic eyes

run down body she arrives battered by a sea wave

slowly gradually reviving

resting and nourishing

sharing moments and rituals

growing pains smoothed away

her eyes sparking like dew drops


The quiet, the slow days, the rain, the cold

the silent tears I hold



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