I touch my stomach, tracing
the ghost of where
your hand gently squeezed,
marveling that you like…
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I touch my stomach, tracing
the ghost of where
your hand gently squeezed,
marveling that you like…
A swirl of snowflakes,
a branch swaying in the wind…
Weird how quaint it’s gotten,
to have a proper radio on hand,
sitting out in a place to see…
Daily Poets 