by jdavidcharles

at the coffee-shop
down the corner
lost to identity
I read theology beside you
with your Fitzgerald pages
like leaves folded and falling
each into the arms of each
sipping coffee
and seeing May all around
us with its blooms settling
slowly down on arms
legs and breasts
singing our self-same song
to the you and I we
each seem to be

here eons away
one pauses to wonder
who will ever see it
before it goes