What better way
To while the time,
Than with our arms
Thus intertwined

Some days,
I crave
Some time
With yours
On mine

We're good consumers,
Until tomorrow's social standards
Deem today's behaviour immoral.

We are criminals in waiting,
Until tomorrow
Justifies today's crime.

Are we prisoners,
Now and forever?

12 pages turned; back at that seminal day.
I close this shiny jamjar, capturing unresolved issues in the air.

In early evening darkness, an endless entourage of engines sails streets exactly as Doppler predicted.

His trolley case traverses cracked concrete until her heels slow, halting to heed a busker's beat.

Polite soles approach the pair, sidestepping into loose layers of leaves - compacting gold and brown with a crunch.

Well-travelled tongues whisper foreign fears and wishes in a fog of white noise, fading to null as four eyes silently share three special words.

She's eyes to
Make poetry with

Reading her novel
On trains, morning and night -
Fictional parentheses
Bookend-ing the story of my day