Lips won’t stint to meet the flawless rim
The mouth of the perfect porcelain cup.
Ever I’ll be thirsting for this crispness ̶
The lingering aroma of this umber swirl..
We came across once more that slight evening
No words, just held gaze for a moment ̶
Then walked past each other.
That boy in a Maritime uniform,
Yes him! This must be a high
My attention keeps reverting ̶
I held on to that mem’ry, like breathing
the warm flavor of café noir ̶ perpetual.
It must be the caffeine,
Or must this cozy old table be
on this lonesome spot,
Or the Sinfonia on the background
The pasty street lights across the bistro,
Or the dreamy people walking past..
Must be the appeal of that very moment
The unexpected bliss of that instance..
Or the sapphire hue of an enfolding dusk
Or must be the blue of this inflicted solitude.
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