Insanirent Poem by Alex Aamoth

The soft color of her eyes,
that sweet smile.
The way she sways,
when she thinks no one is looking.
That twirl she does,
when she is happy and alone.
The way she swiftly turns her key,
to the entrance of her abode.
With that soft grace,
she sets down her bags.
The way she arranges her furniture,
to make it easy to move around quietly.
No pets to announce anyone's entrance,
not even her own.
The soft silk she wears,
when she's ready for bed.
The slow, steady, pleasant breathing she does,
when I stare at her while she sleeps.