while writing to you i wondered
if you heard the spring in the wall.
it popped last night, and you asked
me if i was dreaming when i told you.
i left you a note and stuck to the table
with tape so that cat's couldn't hide it.
it's to ask you for milk and one of those
enchilada meals in the yellow boxes.
3 comments:
Ooh... perfect little poem! The return to Domestic Bliss. (Not that you ever left!)
By spring
i don't suppose you mean
a coiled metal thing
for that would be odd
but ozy, what else could i mean?
the season? or the flow of fresh water?
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