It's life you know.

The rolling green ball.
Star tattoo under wet pink nylon.
Twins in black.
And a boy getting towel whipped.

Hoarding them up,
Squirraling them away.
For a bit of sweet time,
Gently simmered.
Slow cooked.
And not a bit half baked.
Lined up glimmers of living dreams.

Unwrapping the box.
Testing its weight and shape.
Puzzling out the final reveal.
Teasing the ribbon.
Pulling it free.
Letting them fall.

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