￼ Hours without forethought Shushing ocean tempered calm Moon licks the clouds dry Those nights watching the stars wake Your hand resting in my own
￼ Rose petals falling In cascades of pink and red Confetti moments Memories of special days And one above all others
Maroon A warning Sunset signal fired Our days are done Exploded
Empty coffee mugs litter the tables, tidemarks of brown sludge marking their once fullness. Someone plays flamenco music through a poor quality speaker; it lacks the passion of a real performance. A lone girl stands behind the counter tapping her toes, her fingers out of sync on the desktop. She patiently awaits my order with […]
I didn’t give in, I faltered.
I remember her on bad days.
Saturday is the fresh breath of morning that Sunday can never hope to be. Sunday is the bleary-eyed midday that Saturday can only dream about. The week days can’t comprehend the thoughts of the other two because they’ve too much to be getting on with. The nights don’t care either way.