A tilt of the head at night
And a lover's plight.
Skimming along through
All that I was meant to do.
Suddenly, there's you.
She asks if I can
Help to open all the jars...
Satisfying sound.
I write poetry.
Everybody writes poetry.
What chicanery.
I know Santa's real
though my parents buy presents.
Santa is still real.
Baking beats barking.
Sauntering beats laundering.
Love thy laboring.
No comments:
Post a Comment