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Please burn my coffee; I like it that way.
Ever feel like you have things to say… but you can’t find the words?
How would one go about telling bees… they are birds?
There are only thirds… and these peaches keep getting mixed up.
Getting fixed up to go out for a night at the symphony.
Doing everything right to prepare for the air full of colophony.
Breathing in the dust.
There are only memories; lonely fragments of telephone conversation sparking in the brain.
A time-line of pain with no mentioning of the intention this wonder will bring.
I can't complain about a thing.
We share fairly each piece of the peach.
Speaking in sweet sticky sentences. Pre-thought but they never sound the same in my head.
Kept within reach.
Breathing in the cat hair and the dirt on my shirt with tears in her eyes… in bed.
Why am I all of a sudden so surprised to be paid attention to?
What would you do if everything seemed too good to be true?


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--Last edited by Waffle Bob on 2008-02-20 02:03:03 --

"seems too good to be true..."

I know the feeling, my dearest B!  

Awesome poem, as always.  I love the way you weave your words.  *hugs*