of coffee rings and puddles shallow

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she sits in the quiet of the night
somewhere the dogs bark
she stirs the coffee in the cup
and along with it seasons pass

dissolving crystals, lucid thoughts
a symphony in silence
all stirred with a spoon and half
in the mornings she looks up the dregs
they all speak of a better tomorrow

and then the nightingale calls

i’ve been in love with love

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somewhere the mosaic of a setting sun
that you and i have been witness too
but i don’t know you and you
wax along with the moon

somewhere between milling crowds and
billowing breeze our paths have crossed
traveling side by side, but
strangers we remain to distant shores

a bench in the park longs for your return
and i traipse through life like the sunflower does
maybe you’ve been the haunting eyes
i spied in the market place ages ago

but if you don’t tell me your name ..i’ll never know

meet me far…

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a look into the mirror
takes you back in time
when love was many a stolen glance
between puffs of winding smoke
when tea came cheap at two pence each
but to catch a glimpse of you, they came from far
when in between banter and many a verse
someone lost their nerve
while your smile was like the ode to joy

you sit now in quiet contemplation
writing a dispassionate prose
we are both past the age of poetry and till-now-forgotten loves, you see
you order two cups of tea
one for you
and one for me?

…the persistence of memory

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…it’s an old photograph tucked away in a myriad folds
and yet every once in a while she stares at the gurgling laughter
and the strength of the hold
…she recalls the love and the warmth of a home
much before the big world, swallowed her whole
….a solitary moment captured in a sepia print
from days long ago
….and now when the storms rage and sometimes when the lights wane
against the flicker of candle light
….arises a smile, reminiscent of the little girl
that she used to know

never let me go

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you and i, we’ve met before
before the winding alleys to my home changed
where daisies met every morning to greet the sun
and music wafted from the apartment above
the road where i walked to the bus stop and
stopped to chase the little ducklings along the way
you and i have met before
before i forgot the way to your home
the one that has that tea shop for four
and around the bend, waters blue
with doves so white and pristine true
we’ve been apart chasing dreams, some elusive, some real
but the moon’s been out each night, leaving a trail
you and i we’ve met before
I’ve just forgotten the way home.

the lovers, the dreamers & i

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An elegant kind of quietness arrives in no apparent hurry to be anywhere. I watch the narrative unfold, sometimes a stranger to those very pages whose sheaves provide the comfort of home. You, you sit facing a mirror, you love yourself so. Together, we are chess players waiting to make a move.

Somewhere a heart beat bubbling forth like cappuccino froth rises and seeks no more.

Romanticism and silver spoons

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you see me for who Iam …a mess in tales of vulnerabilities behind a carefully crafted facade of lightheartedness ….& you so very beautifully craft my story from the very depths of my despair making me believe in every word and just when the walls come crumbling down and I want to for the very first time …you hurry back into your world….teaching me a harsh lesson to never look back….and perhaps to believe that in this mediocre life at least the expectations were great