In the evening
I heard passers talking
about work that morning;
about numbers and deadlines
and the contracts for signing.
All the while
the evening sky was gifting
salmon wrapped cloud parcels
to the west,
the northeast dimmed
while the shy night hemmed
a starry sequined dress
but the passers only had green
in their eyes

A picture may paint a thousand words, but a word can communicate a thousand images.

Time:
a perpetual motion,
an unstoppable force.
The present:
a constant collision with
an immovable object:
the past.

Shallow pools
so still
filled with dripped dreams
long decayed.
Fearful whispered words
will echo under their weight.
Because not every circus has
a drunken clown,
nor revolution a song
and not every scream means
something is wrong.
It's a reticent forgotten poem
existing in an amorphic state.

"Ah, grumpy thumb have you met------?"
He stood aside.
I saw a wave of hair so slight,
black as jet.
Shoulder length
faint apple scent.
Pale blue eyes,
button brows creased mild.

"Hi." A little shy.
Our hands touch.
Her's: soft, warm and dry.
"Hello."
A friendly shake then let go.
A smile, matt salmon-pink lips.
Fine laughter lines.
Genuine.

Host makes a beline.

Feeling a little uneasy, "I'm not good at these things....." indicate with a nod.
Her smile stretches.
Button brows an animated lift.
Stepping closer, "Me neither.
To be honest Grumpy, I'd prefer beer and pizza."
Tingle laughter.
"Me too, but when in Rome!"
I take two champagne flutes off a walking platter.
We clink.

"Shall we?" Slender arm snakes round mine unexpectantly.
Sidestepping the gathered bulk of people we find space.
My eyes trace the small dimples of her cheeks. Nostrils flare, better to remember the bloosm of her hair.
"With all the cackle, I didn't catch your name."
"Oh, it's---------"
The host returns again.