365 Days of Poetry: Day Two-Hundred and Forty-Two

I do not remember much.
from when I was a baby.
not even a year old, yet.
my red hair was prevalent.
in a Pebbles style ponytail —
though my mother seems to have.
used the twisty curlers in it.
already.

I am wearing nothing in the picture.
where I smile and play.
in a dark green bathtub.
my face open and happy.
eyes unobstructed by glasses.

I like when yours fall down.
your nose, barely caught by the.
flare of your nostrils. I love.
the red line left behind when.
you push them back up, though.
as thick as mine, they obscure.
the full depths of your.
mahogany eyes, though I do not forget.
the care I see within the rims.
of your irises.

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About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

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