I like the way…

I like the way my young boy stutters.

I love the     drawn     out      words     he utters.

He forces me to stop. and. listen.

to put down trivial things I’m doin’.

The most important thing I do all day

is really hear what he has to say.

‘Cuz my boy’s so far surpassed

This black n’white grey-scale grey matter cast

that I’ve for so long called my brain.

His dreams fall on my ears like rain.

And, like rain, the drama’s at the start

when the black clouds gather and the floodgates part.

So, too, my boy commands attention

commencing sentences with pure intention.

His intention’s strong enough to cause

his lips and tongue to seem, well, flawed

(to others, maybe, not to me-

my boy’s talking sets ME free).

But if I could see in front of me

the creations of my world of sleep

I don’t think I’d care if I pronounced

exactly correctly the magic I announced.

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