Llasa-poo
The one who lasts with silver hairs
in black and white, like any star
shooting to this greeting, or the
spokes of a tire going this distance.
A statue in the night when groomed,
the clippers buzzing in a yellow room,
layers of bear when you are a honey.
Not big, not small, curling up like lashes
on the brown couch, you are me, a shadow,
a helper, the best kisses on my nose
matching yours and smelling food.
Pawing at the car window when pulling
into the park, who says you're spoiled,
who says I didn't need this security.
The one who lasts with silver hairs
in black and white, like any star
shooting to this greeting, or the
spokes of a tire going this distance.
A statue in the night when groomed,
the clippers buzzing in a yellow room,
layers of bear when you are a honey.
Not big, not small, curling up like lashes
on the brown couch, you are me, a shadow,
a helper, the best kisses on my nose
matching yours and smelling food.
Pawing at the car window when pulling
into the park, who says you're spoiled,
who says I didn't need this security.
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