The Cafe Cat

November 30, 2016

7-shrill blips

A warm bed in winter

Dim light reaching in

Cold hands

Gurgling stomachs

The smell of burnt toast

Streaks of marmalade

And thick reserves of butter

Crumbs on crooked smile

The mirror

Like a cameo carved

In your image

Golden hair

Cold hands

Smoothing it down

With a silky, emerald green oil

Ready to go

A kiss on our cheeks

A little dance

And a wave from the window

Watching as I go

Watching as I return

We scrolled through small villages, never pausing for longer than a moment's thought, succeeded by another, the roadside washing ov...

This cake encapsulates some of my favourite scents. The malty-ness of black tea with bergamot, the mellow tones of vanilla, and sweet,...

Last night I dreamt of a burnished American landscape in Fall My reflection hung and pregnant upon my own gaze; A swollen hau...

I found your eye, Blue Scratched into my notebook January 2007 Burnt there, lingering With notes on Piaf Her name Scrawled a doze...