All the pretty houses
with flower boxes of pansies
and climbing English Ivy on bubbling fountains
with people named Cozy inside.
I peak through designer wrought iron fences and clean shutters but I don’t see you inside.
Who are you that live on this palm tree-lined street with horses trotting by carrying loads of tourists like me?
I like your pastel pink house
and wonder if we’d ever meet one day.
