Ashes
The cafe burnt alive as soon as you
Set your patent leather boot inside
And walked right into this unknown,
Mysterious yet familiar world
Of witty writers and pious poets
With their poetic pens.
My tantalizing timid eyes
Met your musically amused eyes,
And I heard a symphony unsung,
Strange, how can you be just a stranger,
When your eyes can speak so much danger,
Then how much your heart would want to say, stranger.
Strangers don't sing symphonies,
Nor do they linger nostalgically
Like a locket on an ashen neck.
They don't even say hello,
And there I sat with my cold heart,
Wondering like a bashful bard,
What were the chances,
Those burning glances,
And you left aloofly
With your latte
Leaving the ashes behind.
Soot everywhere,
Here and there,
On my lips where
Your eyes lingered,
On my fingertips,
Wanting to write
The desires of the
Waltzing, woozy heart.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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