EPOCH POETRY NO FURTHER A MYSTERY

Black is the color of my minor brother’s brain, the gray streaks in my mother’s hair. Black is the color of my yellow cousin’s smile, the scards upon my neighbor’s wrinkled deal with……we go to satisfy the realization of makers understanding who we are …being aware of the best way to Stay, and what lifetime is… …we have to spin as

my eyes took your slender fingers & dreamed on them, they thinned imagination into a queen named sheba/nefertiti deeming you royalness/building a fetish of your respective hand……we go to fulfill the realization of makers knowing who we are …recognizing how to Are living, and what everyday living is… …we have to spin as a result of our sev