Poetry: STUPID CUPID, STOP PICKING ON ME

Published on 6 January 2024 at 18:06

My god, our son!
Could he not then
Have taken time
To align his arrows
With the eternities?
No need for a story
Like Persephone's

My dear,
I have eaten 
Twelve
Pomegranate seeds!
Twelve!
Twelve...

She kept yelling
Till it was a 
Faint whisper
On my lips

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