A jug of wine, a loaf of bread...
I had brunch On the patio Of the cafe On Isabella Street We used to frequent, - Sundays, with The New York Times, Or after work for drinks. I had a pint of loneliness, Wile you smoked clouds And whispered In the trees. The waitress smiled and flirted In the way waitresses do. I flirted back Because her eyes Were azure blue. And in the sky Were contrails Of my searching, Ceaselessly. ...Read On
Added: 19 May 2013 | Category: Love Poems |
Avg Score: 5 |
Tags: moon soon waitress named june
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