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: https://www.tiktok.com/@jonquelartInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/jonquelart/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JonquelArt/Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCyc7e1fSn0LeftEPM_nogxgTwitter: https://www.twitter.com/jonquelart/Website: www.jonquel.com

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I am an unloved daughter.

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