And it getting to the suck part where the old people are us and our parents are dead and the babies aren’t babies any more and everything hurts
Sunlight on my face in the crisp morning air as I sip a cup of coffee is as good as gets.
If it’s true that old people just get lonely, I am screwed
I wonder how many dogs I’ll live with
I am poet. I am woman. I write with my thumbs.
Read my poems. Tell me what You think. You may find the love poem you always thought someone wrote for you. Or the one you meant to write
lovers tell zingers and often break hearts
Milky Way Earth U.S.A Madison WI
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