you
you are
you are the
you are the macaroni
you are the macaroni to
you are the macaroni to my
you are the macaroni to my cheese
and if that doesn’t make sense, leave it,
i’ll be happy with you long after metaphors deteriorate
Posted in response to the challenge Build.
I walk home wearing twin braids with bows
and a big smile because I'm wishing for snow.
Snow like a blanket, thick and white,
I want it to fall all through the night -
to cover the roads and the trees and the hills,
her name began with a d and her hair curled in gold ringlets like coins
and her laugh was infectious and her smile was too
and her eyes sparkled when they caught the light. she walked
i think cats read poetry. you can tell
in the way their tails swish and how they fold their legs
all the time, probably wondering how silvery the pinecones
will look tomorrow,
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