Jeives

Waiting out front in the icy cold, A fresh wind blowing, my bones feel old. The neon-bright street reveals 7.45, 15 mins 6 degrees, can we stay alive? Longing looks at cozy patrons inside, freezing hands under armpits, eyes open wide. Muggy air beltches through the open door. Uneasy lopsided grins over the sticky floor. Prodded upstairs by an untuous waiter, this place just wasn't a 5 star rater. He flourishes his hand at a table too small, so when he leaves we stole tables to fit us all. With a dubious look at the ajoining deep-freezer, we perused the menu for and appetite pleaser. After several attempts, our pronunciation was

I really don't know love at all, only the illusions I called grand and false, maybe not all, but enough. Not enough. The dizzy dancing way id feel, Achingly good, but still not real. The moments between you and I, The emotional carousel, ups and downs, Bright colours , dreams, and happy sounds. But your not mine. A heart that I held out, that I couldn't recall, Pushed back to my chest, just a little mauled. The colours fading, leaving deepest blue, And black and white outlines, stark and true. The illusion lost, maybe a lesson gained, A stronger heart, not broken but maimed. But its love's illusions I'll recall, I really don