I followed the cobblestone,
where years of shoe shod feet
tripped their paths to futures unsure
traipsing on uneven ground.
Eyes there--eager to see their journey's end
my own downcast.
Flooding the senses
the odor of crepes and sea
salty, pungent tinged with sweet,
sullen hope lilting on the breeze.
Friends, lovers walked with hands clasped.
What were we? Or what was I?
I saw the sunset dive
behind your camera lens.
And something died in me
--in foreign fashion.
Could you give me ship lap fences,
sultry nights amid stones that spoke Shakespeare's tales?
Where vines climbed with sure fingers
and English Ivy spilled its heart on it's sleeve,
there you were and I was caught unsure.
I fell in love with time itself, and you aged before my eyes.
If I had turned the clock on its hands,
would I have realized I was in love with your song?
At least I'll always have the music,
and now my hope--wings.
I want to lay in my bed
Next to you
At seven in the morning.
"Crepes." You say.
I get up
and start the crepe maker
I put out the Nutella
And cut bananas
And pull out the jar of lingonberries that
Even though nobody knows
What lingonberries are.
You ask for peanut butter
And we both know I'm allergic.
But I have a jar
Because I know that
You love it.
— The End —