What oozes out
(between the lines)
the scent of shaving,
your lean leg,
those dancing eyes,
waffles.
What can't escape
(the boldface type)
the door that slams,
your heavy feet,
dark eyes demanding
waffles.
What remains
(the words that blur)
a broken dish
your cracking wit,
my steady hand, now
waffles.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
What oozes out
(between the lines)
the scent of shaving,
your lean leg,
those dancing eyes,
waffles.
What can't escape
(the boldface type)
the door that slams,
your heavy feet,
dark eyes demanding
waffles.
What remains
(the words that blur)
a broken dish
your cracking wit,
my steady hand, now
waffles.
NaPo 4/9
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