the city and colour
of windswept leaves scattered
flooded gutters and little rivers
walking in baby steps
across mud and puddles
i stop and stare
at grey monoliths
that see things for the way
they are, for they had years.
coffee is always
soy flat white with one sugar
no more, no less than
familiar, in a paper cup
that's always warm to touch.
we smile indoors, where it's
safe and secret, beneath
the quilted covers of
knitted whispers, we laugh
and we cry because there's nothing
left after this.
we are but
mere mortals that dream of
where angels fear to tread, but
really, are but murals and
gritty graffiti, and our thoughts are
but streaks of the city and colour.
. arigato .
|