Monday, March 14, 2011

Makes Sense

Cherry-topped pink strawberry ice cream is a moment's cause to smirk.
Again the sun sags over her shoulder, behind, as is her work.
Sprinkles dapple the ample sample of whipped cream cresting her desert like the flirt-enhancing freckles on her apple-shaped face.
Once more the door opens, ringing like a church, a bell telling all's well like a wall sentry, yapping a calm proximity alarm with its' clapper.
The waiter offers a refill too late to get a good tip.
Time senselessly slips away.
Many thumb-typed correspondences carry on while the warm turns cream less dense:
glaciers melt into a milky pond.

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