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Ballet
I could write a poem
and no one would know
it was about you and me.
It would just be about the coffee maker
grumbling in the morning,
like starting up an old chevy
when its cold outside.
The warmth seeping
through the coffee cup with the initials
engraved, surrounded by a heart.
The TV mumbling
someones movie script,
a woman with sorrow in her eyes
and pearls around her neck
fighting with the man she loves
and instead of fighting back he kisses her.
The blanket hugging
the couch
as if it was shivering
from the cold.
The cell phone vibrating,
notifying.
Don’t worry, I’ve got you
It would only be about how the snow
would float down
performing a pas de bourree
during a quiet ballet.
This is about someone I like. And the things we like.