thunder having passed crunching sounds at the cat’s bowl
twigs in the nook of a bough — a bird’s nest * the half moon hovers like Venus over a dove perched on a roof’s arch at dawn * Autumn at the park, the bare trees bow to the clouds — the dog’s tail wagging
Sunday at first light, a wine glass by the window — the baby crying * Cold winter evening, a wind warning in effect — snoring from the cat * Passing the alley, the wall-mounted lamp still glows — my shadow darkens
The way she walks around in her slippers — I will watch her do anything.
What is it about that little bit of foam on your nose from your macchiato that activates my ❤ hormones?
At the corner of 6th and Fremont Street,
intense waves of heat,
the smell of kitchen grease…
On the sun-hazy Vegas highway horizon in July, a crawling cop car
Much like me, the natural tendency of spaghetti is sticky when wet