By Neil Cirilo
Lucky of Mona Lisa
Someone painted her lips curved
Of genuine happiness
Of joy and perfection
“Who paints mine,”
Often I ask
Existing in a million little things
Forming perfect curves filled with colors
They happened to be
Of good books, and unlined journals
Of printed shirts, and unplanned adventures
Of iced coffee, and solitary
Of squeezing creative juices
In the melodious murmurs of people
in a coffee shop
Trying to surf the waves of words
As I fill my journal
But what truly gives me
A happiness that last
A joy any heart wishes to have
A gift of time and love
Is the people around me
My friends and my family
I am their Mona Lisa
And they are my Da Vinci.