The tenths of milligrams of saturated fat,
The letters of words of a cereal box,
The colors of the eyes of my big, fat cat,
The sound of the door when she knocks, knocks, knocks.
The shape of the curve of that one perfect wave,
The rising of the smoke of our back yard fire,
The itch of my brain from that all-essential crave,
The pain of a word heard passing by her.
The fear of a hand that’s always swinging,
The red of my heart when I just can’t take it,
The grasping of the smoke that’s never staying,
The blue of my eyes when you just keep faking it.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
The tenths of milligrams of saturated fat,
The letters of words of a cereal box,
The colors of the eyes of my big, fat cat,
The sound of the door when she knocks, knocks, knocks.
The shape of the curve of that one perfect wave,
The rising of the smoke of our back yard fire,
The itch of my brain from that all-essential crave,
The pain of a word heard passing by her.
The fear of a hand that’s always swinging,
The red of my heart when I just can’t take it,
The grasping of the smoke that’s never staying,
The blue of my eyes when you just keep faking it.
Life lies in the little things.
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