small poems & small plates
Lately a piece of fruit on the lovely dish would signal fall is near and tearing into the sweet flesh would cure me of this madness. And one or more birds in the soaring morning, set up with a slant of blue...
Lately a piece of fruit on the lovely dish would signal fall is near and tearing into the sweet flesh would cure me of this madness. And one or more birds in the soaring morning, set up with a slant of blue...
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