How Lucky We Are
Her delicate fingers fondle each piece
above the puzzle, awaiting release,
causing her concentration to increase.
A smile tugs at the corners of her lips,
and as the occasional swear word slips;
she gives up, placing her hands on her hips.
I chuckle, and she pretends to be mad,
and I reciprocate, looking so sad,
that she soon relents, whispering, "My bad."
The puzzle is the last thing on my mind;
doubting her beauty, I'd have to be blind,
for she's gorgeous, with a perfect behind.
I realize just how lucky we are,
like kids with their hands in the cookie jar;
in the eyes of each, the other's a star.
|