Possibilities written by DjWhite

It's possible that I'll find

you stewing

on the stove

layered between bubbles

of beef and sour cream;

or maybe I'll see you

gripped frantically

at the end of the cat's tail

desperately holding

to self-preservation.

Often, I'll catch

you swagger through

the door

just behind my smarter half

around dinner time at 6PM

listen to you

snickering at the heated debate

between him and his zipper

over the frailty

of restraint's constitution.

But, normally, it'll be

on a rainy afternoon --

while I sit beside the window

in this oak rocker

creaking back and forth
to muse's rhythm

and listening to the pat, pat, pat

of double-paned complaints,

--  that you'll  peek

at me from Picasso's

or Monet's brush stokes

or flutter from Baudelaire's

bound thoughts

reminding  me

that they too,

were inspired

by someone else's

inspiration.