I sit,
holding court
with a paperback
and a cup of coffee
Quiet pleasures
Combined with the
Stories that I weave
About passersby,
But then you look up
And the story that comes
To my lips
Is pure in
it’s simple hungers
You and I
Walking away from here
Curtains drawn
Doors locked
Phones switched off
But then you look
Away and I mourn
The moment
But if I saw you
I’d still smile.
Wondering if
The same flame
Burned in your chest
As it did mine.
MB Blissett 
💚
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I will take that as a compliment. Thank you so much.
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Yes please do. Your work is fine 🙂
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Oh yes — felt this one 🙂
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Thank you, it was an attempt to be more evocative than direct. Sometimes the ennui of a missed moment can be poignant if you’re alive to it.
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It can indeed — I wrote a haiku about this a while back — much less sensual, since it was linked to a prompt site — but yes. I can relate 🙂
Always that sense of what could have been —
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I like haiku, it’s more a puzzle but the challenge is part of the appeal for me. Oh yes, if we’re addicted to anything as a species, it’s nostalgia and a need to find meaning. That doesn’t preclude the presence of beauty within that.
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Exactly!
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