You must be closer to God than I,
your patience runs the length of rivers,
unless a can of tuna is at stake,
you seem to have mastered the sacred balance
between enterprize and rest,
so well I’m not always able to tell the difference.
Blessed with efficiency,
your soul is seldom put to test,
and feelings,
you show them all without despair.
Is it bravery or trust that often costs your life?
My heart’s not so big as yours.
And speaking of hearts, you seem to collect little else.
My closet is full, yours bare,
yet you can bring a smile
with little more than gentle voice.
So, without a trace of guile
you rub a leg with your back arched high,
in hope that a morsel might repay
the sweet song you sing before you say goodbye
plyle, 5 months ago
beautiful