by Sylvia Thomas
Is the potato chip in my hand,
Is the tear that slides down my check,
Is the frustration ringing in my throat.
Is the first.
Is the little lemon in my hand,
Is the vomit that pours out my mouth,
Is the sorrow stinging in my heart.
Is the second.
Is the licorice in my hand,
Is the blood dropp that drips from my knee,
Is the regret etched in my mind.
Is the third.
Is the candy in my hand,
Is the taste of the kiss from the lips,
Is the love and the heart and the body.
Is the fourth.
Is the number of limbs on my body.
Is more than three and less than five.
Is a pair and a pair.
Is just right for you and me