Arianne

Arianne's an 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 Mama'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 Mama'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 of Arianne

Arianne