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like Saturdays should be

clouds of rain linger

turn the garden into mist

where the ocean used to be

is a long queue

of fog, one after another

waiting for you to be bothered

by the non existing view

but secretly you don't care

because behind closed doors

is where you hide

the fire makes a crackling sound

a bottle of red wine

is emptied under loud laughter

philosophical talks and insights

because inside

we wash away the earth

from our hands

cut the carrots we picked

make the meat sizzle

pet the dog

cover ourselves with blankets

tell stories until

the day is gone

Written in Portugal, visiting a dear friend on a misty weekend, I hope you can feel the cosiness dripping off the page. This is a poem from my first poetry book 'Visions of Paradise'. Self-published while living in Toronto in 2016, the book is a collection of 40 nomadic poems inspired by travels through Australia, Canada, Indonesia, Nepal, Portugal, Spain and Belgium. Like what you read? You can dive into the entire book right about here. With love, Joke.

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