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Two Suns

My nipple is like a pink sun.
It shines it's light
unaware of the light shined by it's twin.
I wonder,
Would it shine as bright
if it only knew,
It's doppelganger
competed for attention?
Being that it doesn't,
it glows it's rosy glow.
Tiny twisting hairs surround.
That's all they do,
twist around that is.
Surrounding a pink sun,
that knows not it competes
for attention.
I should neglect my naval
and forgo it's mention here.
But I shant.
For it is like a great black whole.
Ever hungry to consume.
Swallowing things up whole,
like lint, cheeto dust, and car keys,
and the occasional low flying bird.
And with all of that destruction
Two pink suns shine on.
Surrounded by tiny twisting hairs.

W. A. Mogollon

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