O kerchief in my hand you are not laced nor dainty you exude no femininity no soft scents permeate you are a plain white rumal soft cotton humbly crinkled oh how I prize you… O kerchief, I am sorry for all the moments you witness on tiresome days when I cry I am grateful thatContinue reading “O Kerchief In My Hand…”
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A Writer In The Room 