Smogasbord, and so
A dashboard of delights.
Supine could be;
Relaxed on a hospital bed,
Luxurious but bad for your back,
Sometimes current but initially,
A sister healed,
A discussion beyond Mum,
Silver hair framing,
Wrinkles round a mouth;
Ripe fruit is determined by smell, and
Will flood a kitchen with colour.
Who are you now,
Riding on the upper deck to Luton with,
The Book in your lap and,
The Wind in your hair?
Why are you a mango,
Ripe to eat?
When love is alive, or
Aroma disperses into cupboards, is
Dispensed across sofas, and
Out walking I thought,
A million dollars can change everything.
– have your wings clipped but clip them yourself,
spoof your location, so health.
Angels are born everyday.
♦picture♦ – Eartha Kitt, Wikipedia♦
evocative short poetry – words move