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alex-applesPoems
French music espresso swirls in my Chai the rumble of conversation clink of glass and silver lean in to the chair back admiring the view of a blank page paper has poetic potential when a voice crackles severing my reverie shredding my illusion my carefully crafted imaginarium I lean forward and type, suddenly cringing, squinting, now conscious of the fluorescent light overhead and worker bees buzzing in an office next to mine my cup is made of paper my music on a radio my silver and glass only kindly ambient noise recorded by some lucky chap really reclining in a cafe somewhere where they grind the coffee beans fresh behind the counter sad to think my desk is no magic carpet so much for a memory of a Paris cafe
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Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
False Memory of a Paris Cafe
French music espresso swirls in my Chai the rumble of conversation clink of glass and silver lean in to the chair back admiring the view of a blank page paper has poetic potential when a voice crackles severing my reverie shredding my illusion my carefully crafted imaginarium I lean forward and type, suddenly cringing, squinting, now conscious of the fluorescent light overhead and worker bees buzzing in an office next to mine my cup is made of paper my music on a radio my silver and glass only kindly ambient noise recorded by some lucky chap really reclining in a cafe somewhere where they grind the coffee beans fresh behind the counter sad to think my desk is no magic carpet so much for a memory of a Paris cafe
Written by
alex-apples
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
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