sans titre4

A French chanson,
to drown the misery.

Wine in glass,
spaarkling pupils.

Diced tumeric,
a slice of garlic.

Sharp lemons,
and apple fritter.

Strong parfum,
strips of roses.

Satin sheets,
rumpled clothings.

Terracotta skin,
roots of stretchmarks.

Silver moans,
and bodies entwine.


No thoughts yet on “sans titre4” by graceokogwu (@GraceOkogwu)

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