Thursday, July 15, 2010

Maeleigh Joy

How dare we call you unplanned
(yet sometimes I wonder if you're really here)
You are lighter than a small brown feather, the fluffy kind
When you open wide your gunmetal eyes
they feel as sharp as a knifepoint
which draws back quickly upon being discovered
Your lips are like a little bird
I see your mind hopping through the grass as
You so inquisitively
so carefully
take the smallest bite
of pink frosting
from the tip of my spoon
in the morning sunshine.

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