It choked me.
My mother told me close my mouth.
Dennis’ father used to sit in the corner,
legs crossed, reading the Gazette
with his lower lip dangling and pudgy.
Old people gape at nothing.
Maybe nothing is gape worthy
when white flurries crown them.
The snowflake melted down into me.
Gerald the Writer 
I’ve been known to look heavenward with my mouth agape. But that was in the distant past. You reminded me just how appealing that feels to me now.
Oh the wonder of it all.