Little secret in my pocket, sometimes I act as if
the world’s a coarse and callous thing like coughed up city streets smoked on
people humdrum lost in whistles whirs and
beeps calculating life like we’re checked out and unremarkable grocery items
And sometimes I stress and fret and worry until the humor’s gone the sweetness lost my mouth some angry gun the bullets out
a black and ugly damage done
But then
I see you
Blue eyes dizzy punch drunk by life every second some new amazing miracle to be loved and awed explored so even the smallest bug or flower becomes king and queen in your gaze and
I can’t help but smile
And be a kid again.

Categories: Creative Writing, love, poetry | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

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