Last Days of Summer Today I won’t write yesterday’s poems, only your face,plums, jam on bread and butter. The pitch of pleasure that presentsitself like weeping. My love, even here, in our pied-à-terre, we can’tescape dark waters. We row the canal,

"Exist Loudly" "Beautiful Nightmare" "Self Care" "Queen of Hearts" "Great Conjunction" Socials:tiktok:

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I am an unloved daughter.

by Brittany Cannon

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