[...]
“You ask If I will write a poem.
I could, I suppose
write the most
splendiferous one of all;
but not right now.
Not when your hands
are brewing warm cinnamon tea
across my skin,
not when I’m trying to imagine
what might happen
If you began flowering kisses
upon me.
My dear,
how can I write a poem
when I’m already inside one?” [...]
― Sanober Khan
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