Meet me I'll be waiting
Rendezvous at Black Cat Cafe in Paris
~ I'll wear my red beret
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Thick as deep summer night, lush and moon dripped
Wine sipped with dark delight
Banter rouses whimsey’s kite
Amorous thoughts taking flight
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.
The radiator whispered like breath
beneath the old window
(half opened for mercy)
where cold fingers of air
braided themselves with steam
and the snow stayed only for seconds
dancing above the sill
in the breeze.
The sofa, burgundy and bruised,
sagged like an old confession.
I curled into its velvet hush
and watched the cupola burn gold
(above the parking lot at dusk)
through the veil of falling snow.
This was my aerie,
thin-walled and tranquil,
where I painted, and read,
and wrote my way
into becoming.
Below, the café breathed
lentils and clove,
hippies hunched
at secondhand tables,
hands wrapped around chipped mugs
(arguing softly about Hesse)
as incense tangled with the steam.
I read Siddhartha in the original,
while Han Fook waited in the margins,
quiet as smoke,
his silence teaching me
to listen without answers.
i found the perfect little table
in the perfect cozy corner
in the perfect quirky bistro
in the perfect part of town
as i head out on my merry way
they may as well cordon off the area
'cause when i get there ~ god help
anyone who may be sitting in that spot
Stir my moonlight coffee
with your freshly dipped brush
in bright yellow ochre ~
I will not complain.
Sprinkle pigments from
from your pallets
on my unflavoured coffee~
I will not complain.
Even when
your indigo eyes
spill Prussian blue
to veil my night sky~
I will not complain.
Come sit with me
share this coloured coffee
on this café terrace
where unfinished canvases
lean on metaphoric walls,
where unwritten poems
bathe beneath starry nights.
He took me sightseeing
Hand in hand
Smiling bright
Eyes for each other
To the city of his dreams
Navigating the twists and turns of the streets
Awed by the sights and sounds
The majestic buildings
Their architectural splendour
Where history whispers
And echoes through its corridors
We stopped by a quaint cafe
Enriched by the experience of it all
Scribbling,
Writer's cafe,
Coffee breath, gal pals, yah!
Keyboard pixie society,
Smiling!
elephants raise trunks
thunderous roar occurs
all while dining
A cute single teen
Enjoys her toast and beans
A young man opens the door
Thier eyes meet over the floor
With cupids arrow in between
Like a movie love scene
They share a table to feast
Vowing every time they meet
To sit at the same place
Over the table, face to face
But a fire the following week
Closed the cafe indefinitely
They never again crossed paths
Years and years went by fast
Each married another spouse
With children and big house
Now aged and partners passed
Alone, and reminiscing the past
She tries the new cafe in town
He's sat there on his own
She asks if she could join him
Not knowing he's her old flame
Sharing stories from lives gone
And the love they once owned
Realising they are the one
The young love that had gone
Beans on toast tasted better
Now they're back together
The twist of this love song
They we're close all along
Depression is a Nomad wanderer, searching for a hope to break
In that place of heartless, smoke-filled rot where even laughter proves to fake.
The Darkness is a bold intruder, a critique of one's existence,
And hides in places, corners of gloom, an outcast from soul's resistance.
In the Café of Apathy, the face of dejection reappears,
Taking up cudgel in bedrooms and bars, traveling through streets of tears.
Sweets, wines and pastry
Bakeshop, artisan cafe
My life's savory.
We recently went to the zoo,
sadly there were animals few.
Until we all saw,
which caused an uproar,
giraffes in the café shop queue.
The night still young
Fair moment coffee for two
Closed feeling sprung.
nurses come to top off my cup,
the coffee and poison mingle
in the air and on my tongue,
she draws the curtain,
moans next door persist,
snow falls outside the window,
the ground pure white,
trees naked and swaying,
like the grass beneath,
the people huddled inside,
waiting for crackers and another hot cup,
and for the coming spring,
the first green bud peaking from the death of snow
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