An abecedarian poem, per today’s prompt: https://www.napowrimo.net/day-eighteen-9/.
After baking, can dough
ever feel good?
How? It’s just knackered,
like malleable nail-sets. O! Prithee,
Queen Regina, say
that under vacillating
waves, Xerxes yearns, zombie-like.
(18 April 2023)
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