I'm Fergie-licious
I mentally thanked him.
A total stranger hugged me with both arms, and no awkward, sliding smile.
Maybe he should get a medal.
Maybe I will just scratch the back of his curly brown head again, and tell him he's an alright kid, before its too late.
He's destined to be someone else eventually, anyway. That chesnut mop will be on a barber's floor,
along with his charming pleasantries.
You've got to catch them when you still think they're angels.
And not drop them like hot coals
the second their halos fall off.
A beast that wants discourse of reason would mourn longer than I ever have
for the ones I have lost
and magnitudes less than I,
for the ones I never found.