Home together on Sunday morning coffee cup in hand is what I want, I'm hoping someday you'll understand.
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Sharing poems & thoughts, one redacted word at a time.
Home together on Sunday morning coffee cup in hand is what I want, I'm hoping someday you'll understand.
She tells herself, it is enough. It's all right. At home, she is herself, she is herself.
He was so beautiful, the feeling of having come home grew and past rejection did abate.
Come home and I will be all yours.
Your love is a home for me.
Home in October is cornfields and picking apples in Ohio.
I rushed I couldn't sleep it was home, and work again. The passage of time itself had left my life. It had never occurred to me - it was too late.