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Demi Apr 2020
Her hair smelled like strawberry sun,
her skin lightly powdered like a baker’s bun,
you picture her on your luncheon plate.
Being swallowed by your slimy throat
Will never become her fate.
Demi Apr 2020
He grazed up my brickwork
I watched him float back to black
I hope he never comes back
Big Loud Man interrupting my
evening cereal
Demi Apr 2020
Prickly rock in throat,
5:20am, thin drowsy air.
I can see three cats playing.

Moist eyes recognise,
this is the calmest felt
in 27 days.

— The End —