Strange flower, you -
skinned knees and sharp elbows,
bold eyes and rude tongue.
The little ninja dances and whirls -
leaping, gliding, soaring,
high-flying defying gravity -
Crash. (Ow, that was my face.)
Laugh, that sudden sweet loud noise
too close to my ear, exploding with
the force of dying firecrackers -
Sing, your throat a whining dischord
of pleas and not-so-subtle-innuendos,
sunshine and let's-not-grow-old.
(Ever. Together.)
I could have sworn that you were all
angles, angles, angles,
but now you smile and lean down
and -
no, that's not the case at all.
"Stop sticking out your tongue like that."
"I didn't ask you to stick it in, either."
"No, Vinny, you begged."
(Silence. At a wonderful price.)