Doll House

March 25, 2011
He is the beatings of my heart,
as meaningful to me as this world is immense,
the graceful, resplendent trees,
without him I could not breathe,

He’s as hard as the Rocky Mountains
and as sweet as golden-wrapped Russian chocolate,
the smell of expensive, Express cologne
and the feel of passionate purple
with a taste of revealing red.

He is my love,
no matter the confrontations.
It would be my honor, if ever given the chance
to see his last name spelled out
after my first.

We will live in an admirable diminutive house by the water
looking through our window at the feathered emerald grass and
navy blue waves swimming the lake.

The sun will shine through the tainted glass without care
and the sky will change colors fluently but softly before
my eyes of sweet amber.
I’ll be up at the sounds of blue birds with red bellies chirping
making a marvelous, favorable breakfast for my love.

I’ll kiss him delicately goodbye as he walks out the front door
in another daily attempt to receive a great promotion.

He’ll call me his wife, beautiful and darling
and be so honest and sincere with the words he speaks.

I’ll have a full course dinner with candle lights and flawless flowers,
wait elegantly and patiently for him to arrive.

The bed will cry and beg for our presence
And I will tell him “I will love you forever and always.”

Every night before we close our eyes and drift to sleep,
he’ll call me lover and wife
and I will be his one and only…

If I get to play house,
the way I want to.

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