my eyes took your slender fingers & dreamed on them, they thinned creativeness to some queen known as sheba/nefertiti deeming you royalness/producing a fetish of your respective hand…C. Michael Curtis, a senior editor with the Atlantic Regular, reported he considers Epoch "on the list of leading literary magazines within the place with regard to
Black is the colour of my little brother’s thoughts, the grey streaks in my mother’s hair. Black is the color of my yellow cousin’s smile, the scards upon my neighbor’s wrinkled confront…if tomorrow’s black poetry is not going to Make clear what exactly is but Whether it is then pens will probably be electrical with emotion igniting as
Black is the color of my small brother’s mind, the gray streaks in my mom’s hair. Black is the colour of my yellow cousin’s smile, the scards upon my neighbor’s wrinkled encounter…is a means of saying the truth that hurts using a giggle, a way of capping on (shutting up) anyone. Finding even speaking bout individuals’s mammas and this k