The Recipe for the Perfect Poem
rests on the bookshelf in the blue room
decorated with birds and brooches waiting
to be admired, waiting to find
warm fingers and a grin, waiting to see
the old why-haven’t-I-noticed-this-before look,
eyes glassing over, before it snickers
at you. You can’t remove items
from the museum. You can
simply warm the bench.
This is the firt draft, revised a couple of times in my mind. 😉 Feedback/suggestions always welcome.