People ask me what love is
and I smile because I know
I see the answer in you every day
Your sadness for old shoes
left on a windowsill
waiting to be rescued from the rain
The scar above your eye you hate
when it speaks to you in the mirror
Always and relentlessly there,
sharing a home with the old ones in your heart
colored crimson and blue
It’s not perfection I seek
It’s the little things that are real
and draw me closer to you
They leave their impressions;
with no chance of escaping my heart
Comments
The Little Things
Hi, Michael,
Your poetry delights in the obvious - you bring out the magic in the simple and the unpretentious. I love the old shoes on the windowsill. That's the good stuff!
Thank you!
L
Appreciate your thoughts L.
Appreciate your thoughts L. Thank you for the very kind words, and I'm happy you enjoyed this piece.
Teddy, you are too kind, but
Teddy, you are too kind, but thank you very much. I always enjoy your comments and perspective on my writing - be well!
Cheers