Little Girl Blue
All you can ever count on
are the rain drops that fall
but as the little boy
Caucasian
blows his
Hostess chocolate cupcake covered
nose
into his Grandpa's handkerchief
I have to believe there are creme-filled
moments one can count on fingers caked
in the delightful-ness of mess
followed by crumbs creeping in the corners
of a smile
always preferably licked
than wiped
clean
every sweet ounce
of a moment's morsel should be
savored
craved, remembered
relived
just as rain drops
they should at the very least
be counted, maybe not
as reliable as the rain
but go hand and hand with the tears
swept up in the hope
chest
they bring nostalgia
to the wanderlust
Again letting go of form on the blog, but never in my dreams. In my dreams as tangible as humid air I swim through each moment with you.
Dinner party with bubbles? Amazing.
If I collect anything . . . I would love to be considered a collector of moments.
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