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This poem, currently entitled ‘7/31/16’, needs a better title. Can you suggest for one? Read it again here to examine what better title you can give. 🙂 Advertisements


I’d count how many strands of hair there are in his eyebrows — left and right. I’d stay up all night just to see how he slowly opens his eyes in the morning; and how the very first rays of the sun reveal the chestnut beneath the ebony of his eyes. I’d fall in love with how he flips his lashes like big Malay fans creating mini-winds that leave my heart somersaulting.   ©All rights reserved. Photo not mine.

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