How Lucky We Are
Her delicate fingers fondle each piece
above the puzzle, awaiting release;
causing her concentration to increase.
A smile tugs at the corners of her lips,
and as the occasional swear word slips;
she gives up, placing her hands on her hips.
I chuckle, and she pretends to be mad,
and I reciprocate, looking so sad
she quickly relents, whispering, "my bad."
The puzzle is the last thing on my mind,
to doubt her beauty, I'd have to be blind,
for she's gorgeous, with a perfect behind.
I realize just how lucky we are,
like two kids, hands caught in the cookie jar,
in the eyes of each, the other's a star.
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