Sunday, January 21, 2024

An Intersection

Promises were left by

hanging by a thread,

on days when life would

require a stationary bed.


Traffic crawled by

at a snail's pace

all things were gloomy

except her face.


Aloofness paid the

pavement a short visit up was a

a crisp dry wind turned

my fingers to frozen digits.


The aroma of dark roast

was more than prevalent

her eyes were everything

except vacant.


And even the sidewalk

was a dangling tightrope

her eyes analyze my smile

like a microscope.


Honking horns echo

in the morning fog

and at some point will

transcend to lingering smog.


As peacoats sway in 

the variable wind,

our eyes met and

a friendship found kindle.


 


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A Seventh Solitary Confinement