Wednesday, August 15, 2007

samia on her parents - second direct score


I thought I’d write a poem on you

The smell of cinnamon.

The vanilla wall lit by the lamp.

Cake crumbs on the dark wood.

Bougainvillea in the breeze.

Your room-

cozy yet clean.

You lie there,

stomachs rising and falling.

Cool fresh air.

I’m home.

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