There’s a rain steady,
keeping indoors the traveler
whom might be seeking the wood,
may stroll along the coast,
skipping rocks, switching thoughts,
contemplating the beauty around them,
the coffee shop,
holds promise to the conversations
around that though similar, seem different,
contain stories all the same,
their worlds are always different,
in the context of their moments,
until we can catch each other’s eyes.
We wonder about the people next door,
a table nearby our own private world,
did they speak of it,
were they aware,
was there a time in their lives when everything,
seemed similar, possible, simple,
perhaps it is true,
they say it often enough to never forget,
we’re all the same,
we haven’t any lead on the element of change
the human condition might experience the same,
euphoric wonder built upon manifest tragedy.
I was sitting along with my company,
my world against hers,
together we were watching our own world,
responding to the elements in a unique fashion,
yet still, very still, almost
in a sort of decopaged setting,
to be measured in someone else’s eyes,
for they are the judge of this life,
we are simply the portrait.
A stillness in the air,
while we wait the rains,
they might part to give allowance
to nature’s Grace in the wooded freedom
of a dense forest,
away from all wander of deception.
While I stood inside the sidewalk cafe,
I watched the people around me,
create lives of envy,
to balance those of misfortune,
whose measure relied upon me,
or my own eyes, or their’s or someone
with similar passion.
Yet in all of our sightings,
there seems only one reality.
My mind, my body, my eyes,
have this perpetual desire,
though it’s, well, known, has indeed,
been done, thought about, imagined,
I’ve read about it, been turned on by it,
felt the enticement of the excitement
Yet I cannot still call it my own,
a thoughtful repose,
a candid shot in the mind of others,
I still only count upon the fantasy.
A gray day, an indiscernible disappointment
for others it is the excitement,
people watching, people seeing, people wanting,
different shapes and atmosphere and mood.
In the coffee shop on a simple afternoon,
where the stories are being told,
yet we are all so left alone.
A dark persona meant to simply allow space,
moves with a silent purpose,
eyes upon her are anticipated,
yet she has practiced diversion,
allows her life to be contained,
cup in hand, glance to the walls,
all filled with humanity inside their frame.
Choose the table,
please, I’ve arranged myself for you,
to be nearby, close enough to know eyes
suggest a scene,
only if you decide,
I can wish upon a dream,
I can hope to set the tone for this scene.
Wraparound legs, a turtleneck plays inside silk design,
she is stunning in her desire to be the elegance
she certainly portrays in a delicious
Sit there – my eyes dart away, my expression flush,
I wait in hope this lovely woman
will allow my eyes to exchange smiles with her,
though there is more to the story,
a lust, a desire, a certain silent seduction,
a pairing of ideals, of mood, of anticipation,
I would if given avenue, begin a quiet caress,
soft shoulders that speak of need,
lips, with little of a painted display,
yet certain to provide the sensuality my yearn
might feel if given a key to this fantasy.
She sips, while book open, her eyes devour
this moment with a delicious affect
speaks to my loins, I do want her now,
she glances my way,
the intensity of my need widens her eyes,
her book closes, a sip, a moment to ponder,
she steps out of my fantasy, to yet an exit nearby.
Deftly, my books close, book bag sorted,
my exit apparent,
I reach the car,
step inside with my state of mind,
anyone might ascertain,
yet remains completely my own,
for the moment.
‘Did that work’ she says, with a smile, buckling in.
I glance upon lithesome … eyes,
the pullover she knows is my favorite,
a complimentary scarf so elegant,
I gather a breath, ‘Oh my, I do so … ‘
sweet lips entangle my reaching gasp.
Imagine if the world could understand
A woe as troubling in its demand
As the will of man when caught in the grind
Of a wandering mind, lost in remind.
Gather steam and feel quiet urgency
His heart suspends, ask certain clemency.
For one short moment, serendipity
Steps forward cries a surreal pity.
Glance around the room, today strangers will
Know there is true love by apparent shrill.
For though we call it inevitable
Still as her sweet heart shreds we feel able.
Oh to feel her soft caress, distant eyes.
Bring bodies close, let me shadow your cries.
Inside this place with so many conversations,
in lies, in testimony, perhaps a confessional,
the voices are quiet on a lonely Friday evening
when a listener might wonder if alone is real,
wishing for the banter,
the loud grinding noise of an expressive machine,
delights the aromatic nature of each possessor.
Tonight he waits with patience,
allows trepidation to filter into his state of mind,
the ever distant grains of sand that swept together
give a certain barrister nightmares,
the man alone in the coffee shop on Friday night,
only imagines her walking through the door to break the silence,
when she does,
he wonders if she might,
would she share the moment,
the victory of silence,
with some canned music overhead,
a surreal notion while the moon paints yards
across the city,
a Friday night,
when she does appear, he will, he might,
a tear of joy,
a balance to the helpless plight,
I do return here,
the mood is always right,
no matter the season,
time of day,
state of mind,
I know somehow
light will appear.
There are times I don’t even wait,
the tone is set,
I can see from a distance,
in her eloquent form,
the manner a wrap drapes love lines,
the manner of a lean,
how eyes dart across the room,
how she does look at me in the moment;
that singular breath of fresh air,
that says hello without regard to
Then it happens all at once,
I want to be inside,
inside her world, in grasp,
I want to feel the beauty of a spiritual reckoning,
the energy she exudes,
I want that,
only for the moment.
I try to draw near to the moment helps recall my musings,
one can only wish they might be better defined,
yet, with so many variables, distractions, delights,
we encounter throughout our waking hours,
it is no surprise,
-notice we are on a positive stream of consciousness-
that its sometimes hard to know,
who it is that drives our words …
Is it perhaps the woman who keeps a chronology of her escapades,
or perhaps that gentleman speaks in only
dominance with esquire flair,
-we all know there is bullshit about us-
I wonder then if simply the refreshing walk of normalcy,
that passes by my window, a leash in hand,
-for their dog you idiot-
is temptation enough to be enticed by her,
gentle lead of a quiet urban life.
Today again, I will go in search of that something,
someone, who is, beyond my reach,
certain to know she might be of an elegance
that moves many beyond my own head,
my own eyes delving deep inside her mystique,
to want her abandon to fall into the sweet hold of my
to feel the wisp of breeze as lips find naked romance,
to light the morning’s fire again …
morning java, sweet a musing’s tone
if movement causal to ignorance
when then might we able our lives
on a threshold of purity
to actual release of desire.
For all our lives can really tell,
we have an inkling for pleasure,
why not allow forbidden fruit
an examiner’s eye.
If, when again we search
our soul a release from a
burden of scrutiny, might
then passion be forever held.
These things cross my mind
while a glance across the room.