Arianne

Arianne is April morning
That comes rippling through my window
She's the smell of coffee brewing
On a quiet, rainy Sunday
She's the purring of a kitten
That has made my neck a pillow for his head

Arianne is silly music
That my father used to whistle
She's the new leaf on a fire
That I had given up last winter
And what writers have to feel like
When they suddenly discover they've been read

Arianne is Momma's crystal bread
That's nearly finished baking
She's a rainbow in a puddle
And the happiest birthday
She's a going out on Friday
And a coming back on Monday with a tan

Arianne is made of feelings
So I milk her of her kisses
And I swallow up her breathing
And I taste her where she love me
And I'm filled to overflowing
But there's always room for more Arianne

Arianne is Momma's crystal bread
That's nearly finished baking
She's a rainbow in a puddle
And the happiest birthday
She's a going out on Friday
And a coming back on Monday with a tan

Arianne is made of feelings
So I milk her of her kisses
And I swallow up her breathing
And I taste her where she love me
And I'm filled to overflowing
But there's always room for more Arianne