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June 2nd , 2024

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Kelvin Dechi

A year ago

GOLDEN HOES

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Love Isn't All


by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Love isn't all: It isn't meat nor drink

Nor sleep nor a rooftop against the downpour,

Nor yet a drifting fight to men that sink

furthermore, rise and sink and rise and sink once more.

Love can't fill the thickened lung with breath

Nor clean the blood, nor set the cracked bone;

However numerous a man is befriending demise

indeed, even as I talk, for absence of affection alone.

It well might be that in a troublesome hour,

nailed somewhere around need and groaning for discharge

or on the other hand pestered by need past goal's power,

I may be headed to sell your affection for harmony,

Or on the other hand exchange the memory of this night for food.

It likely could be. I don't figure I would.


"It Was a Calm Way"


by Emily DickinsonIt was a tranquil way —

He inquired as to whether I was his —

I made no response of the Tongue

In any case, reply of the Eyes —

And afterward He bore me on

Prior to this human commotion

With quickness, as of Chariots

What's more, distance, as of Wheels.

This World dropped away

As Sections of land from the feet

Of one that leaneth from Inflatable

Upon an Ether road.

The Bay behind was not,

The Landmasses were new —

Endlessness it was previously

Endlessness was expected.

No Seasons were to us —

It was not Night nor Morn —

In any case, Dawn halted upon the spot

What's more, affixed it in Sunrise.

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The Door


by Marie HoweI had no clue about that the door I would step through

to enter this world at long last


would be the space my sibling's body made. He was

somewhat taller than me: a young fellow


however, developed, himself by then,

done at 28, having collapsed each sheet,


flushed each glass he could at any point wash under the virus

furthermore, running water.


This is the very thing that you have been sitting tight for, he used to tell me.

Furthermore, I'd say, What?


Furthermore, he'd say, This — holding up my cheddar and mustard sandwich.

Furthermore, I'd say, What?


Furthermore, he'd say, This, kind of glancing around.

Meet the Author


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Kelvin Dechi

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