sitting outside in early spring, at the café on the corner
in the company of one or two of my better selves
still sleepy and cloaked by the comfort of our thoughts, we quietly
followed the steam that rose from the basements
and met the aroma of bacon and coffee, nestling
beside the roar of cars, and the city babbling

later,
after we had eaten and came to, we found
that our blood ran hot in the early morning; drunk on talk we
debated the bliss that’s found in silence
comfortably now buzzed in each other’s thoughts,
we savoured the slow spreading warmth of the knowledge
that we just talk and that nothing ever happens