Your smile. Is.
Sausages, sizzling in a skillet
Sounds like sage leaves singing sadly
From the botulum of their hearts
While the parsley and potato purr
The yellow of the egg yolks hurts my ears
Avocado. Avocadenza
Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.

© 2020 ARF

Author: Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

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