I'm writing poetry in the kitchen,
Humming a song to my heart.
It's made of white roses
The scent and sound of coffee granules settling into the silver pot
It's flashes of blue luminescence, and skin, and shooting stars.
It's the tenderness holding the longing that pulls me from Cape town to Pretoria and back again.
I'm writing poetry in the kitchen,
The song I'm humming is you.
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