Beauty Comes In The Form Of A Penguin

Beauty comes in the form of a penguin,
Blue shell hangs, shimmering in the sun,
On a delicate chain, wrought finer than a strand of silk,
To me, silver's worth more than gold.

A dilapidated old shop,
Bought for fourteen ninety-nine,
But worth so much more to me now,
A treasure trove of my memories.

Memories of marshmallows submerged in chocolate milk,
Of soft, wet, tinny-tasting snow,
The smell of mountain air,
Comes flooding back, grasped in my palm.

Warm against my chest,
Sharing my breath,
In, out,
In, out,
Guiding me to sleep.