:: just perfect enough ::

yesterday was the kind of day amateur poets die for and more weathered, professional poets (of the modern ilk, anyway) feel they must somehow dirty up. it was shot like a sam mendes film, all clarity and perfection (think American Beauty) but without any of the mendes creepiness lurking underneath.

the sky was blue. the kind of blue you can only find in your crayon box because markers just make it too bright. the clouds were creamy as whole milk and the texture of cotton candy.

lying on the deck in the backyard all i could hear was the sound of the sprinkler and evan's giggles and sharp inhalations and a lawnmower in the distance. it filled me with nostalgia even though i was right in the middle of it.