By Will Schmidt
Warm could describe her eyes.
Not like a flaky croissant, fresh from the oven,
warm like the way your momma hugs you.
Just the other day
took first place in a beauty pageant.
Close contenders include:
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon and
Le Tour Eiffel à minuit.
I lit up a Marlboro Red the other night,
and the sultry curls of the smoke, glazed by moonlight
brought my memories to her chestnut hair.