There's this girl, I'd like to write about
her bosom for a few moments,
because I can't stop thinking about
how many hooks she fiddles with
in the morning. How her cups
of coffee touch her lips,
or does she drink tea?
How many bobby pins does it take
to hold her hair, and does she
hold them in her mouth while she
wraps it into a bun?
She defies gravity with pink and white stripes,
and I try not to look when she bends down
in front of me, but how can I not
think about fiddling with the hooks
on that pink and white bra, and
how can I not think about fixing her coffee, and
how can I not think about helping her
with those tangled brunette locks, or
at least hold the bobby pins, or
at least leave the sugar out, or
at least sneak a peek at her chest?
YOU ARE READING
Thresheld
PoetryMy life is a series of thresholds that I overcome through poetry. Love, loss, pain, regret, humor, irony, word play, and even sarcasm are as much apart of my life as they are central to my poems here. I am Thresheld. UPDATE: It's been quite a few ye...
