Did you never read my prose?
Or did I never give you the chance?
You are my, Nutella-cake.
To scrape your insides with a butter knife
To suck off every last sugar-lick
Sweet hazelnut and chocolate.
You are my, mid-summer high.
And you loved me by the water
And you loved my in the night
Sneaking in an opened window.
For pizza's just as good
the second day and cold.
And winter's snowblown spell
escapes your springtime mood.
To slide the shirt above the head.
And clothes melt off like frozen cream
Down the tawny waffle cone
Down the sticky little fingers.
My muse-not muse.
To share my love again, and again.
and poems filled with lovers crossed.
Again, and again.
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1 comment:
I opened every jar in the store to the dismay of every worker
sat in aisles twenty and four with my fingers poking and prodding
peanut butter -- no -- there IS no peanut butter! -- peanut butter has been outlawed.
***
I love surprises. Your surprise was the best surprise. I sent you one too but I forgot to put part of it in. Next time.
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