I've never been to grand central station, I've never been to New York In that manner
I feel as though I have
Each and every look in your eye
A waterfall of sight
A sense of holding on to something that I've never quite held on to.
Privileged
I felt invited
Nothing much to do
Sharing a plate of solemn stares
Neat folded napkins morsels of thought
Tasted; retasted
Ordered in haste
Perhaps it's the hope of holding on to something
A present wonder soon to become future past
No longer a reminder of empty hallways
A Lack of empathy now filled with each other's presence
Across a table three shades of red
Varnished in clear coat
Lamented with crumbs and coffee stains
Padded iron wrought seat
Neat tiled floor
The press of nicotine against scented lips
Listening to the way you talk
Winged heels
Exploring a Cathedral of thought beside a pillar of marriage proposals
Lovers running late, lost luggage.
The coming and passing of faces
The unraveling of plastic; the sound of smacking lips
And here we are with nothing better to do;
Watching life through another's eyes