she loves the feel of her own hair between her fingertips
and the way he talks about the clouds
she loves the classical piece playing softly through the radio
and the way he sounds
she loves his silly cappuccino's in the morning
and the and the way he rambles about art
she loves their little house, and big backyard
and the way that heaven now, isn't that far
she loves the feel of her own hair between her fingertips, and the way idle chatter has the silence filled
she loves to see sunshine on the windowsill
and the feel of their son's hair between her fingertips.
ESTÁ A LER
(BASKET CASE)
Poesia"One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple." -Jack Kerouac
