Perfect Wife
She grooves to the beat of her everyday
struggle
from Mondays to Sundays, her cheeks blushed
scarlet.
She's always dancin', cookin' up a whipped
fiasco
with her hips, sitting on the electric beat, riding the wiry
current.
She gives and gives, and thanks.
That's what good wives do.
She sings to the finches, before they awaken
chirping
out a sweet grey dawn song, in the misty silence, her voice a
beacon.
jacleric:
Wow. You are quite a poet, beautiful girl. I love this one... it captures an old-fashioned and nearly forgotten spirit 💜😍😘