Train stops.
Coffee shops.
Feet shuffle across the cobbled stones.
Flurries of sparkling dew are falling,
undecided if they're snow or rain.
It's getting cold out here,
winter nipping at our toes and ears;
pulling jackets closer,
wishing jackets were our lovers.

And there, in the warmth of a corner shop,
a nymph, perhaps, or just a girl.
And when she looks up, my god,
it's like the sun has birthed a world
of stars and planets, a universe,
held inside a sea of traversed
by love and longing
and patient waiting,
for a man exactly like you.

And as you reach for that thing you need,
what was it that you came here for?
Those fingers brush your hand,
and your head rushes in your heart,
and those eyes capture your smile,
and as you journey back to home,
the cobbled streets are so much warmer
as you pull your jacket closer
and she pulls you closer too.

We lay naked
wrapped in sheets like
a caterpillar still in its cocoon.

And there was a storm outside.

But it didn't matter
if the storm lasted or not.
Because to see another day was
of no consequences to us now.

That night we didn't make love,
but lived an entire lifetime.