Repeat

This piece I wrote on one hot and muggy night while thinking about the special woman in my life, Glenda. She had mentioned to me how she missed reading my poetry. It was true, it has been a while but she has a way of giving my courage to try things.

So, that day I let the rusty gates open and they creaked with a brief moment of blindness. Then I thought about her again and how she is not perfect.  Yes, before you ask I have said this to her. I say it because it is what makes her perfect for me.

You ask her if she's hard of hearing, but make sure you have her attention first. Or I can tell you, because I know how Glenda would answer. She's not hard of hearing, it's more like selective hearing. Which is actually true, I've witnessed it. If I don't have her attention she won't grasp what I said, but she can understand me when I whisper.

Regardless, it rarely bothers me and has become a playful moment as life is too short to get upset. She taught me this.

Repeat

What is it that you hear
That causes three simple words
to be on repeat, repeat, repeat

Would it be the baby blues
These insecurities of distant times
The endless scrolling you find
or the silence you keep.

What?

The corners of my lip curl
Forming the quality you like
Under attentive baby blues of mine

I echo the syllables
Tongue to pearls
Lips unfurl
There is no stutter

To those three words

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