Poem for her 279

Dear Readers,



Pink Pokey Dots


They were soft in my hand
They formed some cotton threads
They were on a shirt
The shirt was yet to be
On her
But it lay there
On a store shelf
The dots were whispering
To each other
Pick us
Pick us

They were soft in my hand
The shirt pulling down
Over her shoulders
Over her the waistband of Skirt
The dots were whispering
To each other
Kiss us
Kiss us

Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.