Her skin smells of home
Like a freshly-cooked meal.
Her hair gleams in the sun.
Like a newly mopped floor.
Her eyes are as blue
As just-cleaned toilet water.
Too bad she doesn’t
Live here anymore.
Leave a comment
Filed under Poems
Tagged as Housekeeping, Humor, Love, Poetry, Postaday, Silly
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Enter your Email address to receive updates on the latest travesties.
Join 867 other followers