yesterday she asked my how my day was
told her the same thing as the day before
'things are good'
the other morning her silky hair, combed and combed,
seemed to wave at me as she passed
'things are good'
perfectly shaped eyebrows above gushing blue
the oval shaped face full of beaming smiles
'things are good'
she'll stomp by tomorrow, some injustice endured
and every few times she'll lean over and glance
'things are good'
we keep the same time, we let it smolder
smoke, smoke, smoke 'til it catches again
'things are good'
