Tuesday, August 28, 2007
What is the swirling snow?
I have nowhere to be, nowhere to go.
She will hand me the sloeberry wine.
We will talk.
And nestle, together.
Our pooch, his name is Found, sneezes, yonder.
She gets up to let him out, he wants out.
I watch her.
What did I do, to deserve her, and this?
"Go. Scoot. Second thoughts?"
He looks back at me.
"I think you want the outdoors, Found," I say.
And I have never been,
© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007