Thursday, February 16, 2006

Something Light. By J. Braun


I think I’ll have a little something light,

smooth and creamy,

and puffed with air.

I’m there,

for a small sweet morsel,

an existential snack

after a long hard day,

with aching legs, neck and back.

I want something whipped up,

like clouds floating above the earth,

balloons bouncing in the sky

where I wish I was.

I’m in the mood for a

soft, fluffy nibble,

sugar dusted pillows,

of thick, luxuriant delight

at the end of my night,

something silky, satiny enough

to lay my head upon

and find rest.

Something light for me is best,

to ease my doubts,

boost my ego,

and salve my wounds,

to round off the sharp edges of my life.

I need a light, soft place to fall,

to stand tall,

and have strength for all the hard days and nights.

I choose something delectably, confectionably,

especially, deliciously, comfortingly, undeniably,

light.