Fidgety Fingers
Fidgety fingers twirl each jigsaw piece
above the puzzle, awaiting release,
willing her concentration to increase.
A smile tugs at the corners of her lips,
and as the occasional swear word slips:
giggling, she places her hands on her hips.
I chuckle, as she pretends to be mad:
and I reciprocate, looking so sad,
that she soon 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 caught raiding a cookie jar,
in each other's eyes, the other's a star.
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