They giggle, surreptitiously, as I pass. I turn my head. The giggling ceases. How could they possibly know... that I love each nameless one of them? lmr
There is a touch of magic
within their limbs. They are a young,
impromptu dance of naturalistic
animation: all swinging hips and fluid wrists
all rolling eyes and wise-tongues clicking.
They giggle, surreptitiously, as I pass. I turn
my head. The giggling
How could they possibly know...
that I love
each nameless one of them?
And I will forgive them
because they are of an age
when giggling at strangers comes
as easily as breathing.
Although we've never met...
These are my sisters. They are
a rainbow clique of
range in a host of beautiful
shades from deep espresso to
cafe au lait...
and they smile like
a thousand glades of
Although we've never meet...
These are my sisters,
perhaps, they are even my daughters.
They are loud and lively. They stun
and stupefy. They are daringly
defiant and dangerously direct...
And, if they chose to, they could
pausing their conversation,
never losing their stride... and
all while, snapping
on sticks of
Juicy Fruit gum.
And so, temporarily... I
walked beside their rhythm,
as I blew invisible kisses
and said a silent prayer for them.
There is a spark of magic
inside their limbs. These are the young,
nubile daughters of the 90s and 2000s...
They are an impromptu dance;
a wonder of naturalistic
animation: all swinging hips, and fluid wrists
all rolling eyes, and tongues a-clicking.
They boldly flit along city streets,
like a flock of brazen peacocks...
or perhaps a hot gang of exotic
How could they ever know? I
not for fortune or fame...
but in silent praise of them.