Who can remember the time,
Was it Eight-Thirty or Nine?
They were off drinking wine,
When you appeared looking fine!
Tattooed sleeves and white tees,
It was enough to make it hard to breathe,
As you joined our group of three,
Could it be that you would notice me?
My heart skipping beats,
The conversation was a real treat,
Finding out you were super neat,
Single dad, Retired from the man, Tool fan.
A smile I could stare at for days,
I didn’t want us to part ways,
I anxiously left it to fate,
You’d end up my soul mate.
About the Creator
Jackie TL
Lover of all things Fantasy and Sci-Fi. Wolf Dog owner. Just trying to have fun writing again.
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
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