little life lab notes

Wipe the fog
from my glasses.

Remember that ratio:
four parts whipped cream,
one part pie—
and how I like
my roll to hang.

Squeeze my fingers
when my wrists flex
with mischief.

Say the words,
"We can do our taxes together."

I’m sorry.
I’m being odd.

"You’re poetic.
That is how I think of you now."