November 15, 2016Bioman, Flash, Poem, Poet, Poetry, Uncategorized Leave a comment Turned Milk When the milk turns inside my coffee cup I hate that When it doesn’t I turn to the woollen-aged kind of pleasure Of being. I would be and then you would too If it could be so But it cain’t so… Copyright B E Saunders 2016 Share this:TwitterFacebookPrintLinkedInEmailLike this:Like Loading...