We may be two centuries and an ocean apart
because of my American mutiny,
but I’d buy you a supersize something
just to have tea with you,
and I’d like to think we might be friends
believing deep down that you don’t really
hate me for the simple reason I have
nothing culturally in common with you
because I really wanna be your
face in the crowd and the
only smile in your simile
I wanna escape to your sepia colored streets
where insecurities slip on the rain,
then by chance discover our silky souls
are probably perfectly the same

Written by Sara Fielder © Apr 2015