Cobblestone Streets

April 18, 2012
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rivers of Black Tea,
warming my
ungloved hands,
vulnerable to the
cold winter chill

and you were there,
sitting at the edge
of the floral scented river
waiting to dive in.

but without a Glance,
you stood up,
your feet took you

but your pea-coat was a bit
too short for your
and gray.
you always hated gray.

And I Watched
as my back
against the wind,
threatening to send my hat
further away
than my cold limbs
could manage to carry
all of the weight of the world,
weighing down my
beaten shoulders

and you didn’t
glace back but

i thought i saw a twitch
of yearning movement
in your taught shoulders,
that i used to know
better than the back of my
still vulnerable hands.

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