Quaint finds, sloppy joe Sundays
Pop tarts, caramel macchiato in steaming hand-heart warming mugs
Needing high chairs because I can’t reach the tabletop comfortably
I nevertheless find a quiet nook for myself where I can be ignored;
Plush comfort for my bottom, slouching while I pound on the keys
It’s so lovely I almost sleep
Of pretty warm plates and people passing by
If there were places you just want to hug, this would be it.
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