sitting on the edge
where two worlds meet
and sipping mint tea
beneath a pale blue canopy
as a silver crescent moon
hung just overhead
you spoke of life and love
and a thousand other trivialities
all strung together
like glass beads on string
you can buy at the bazaar
for three dollars and change
but underneath these games
we always seem to play
or this silly charade
intended to display
some feigned
pomp and circumstance
as if time wasn’t ours to waste
i wondered if love might ever
be found here amid the flotsam
of any life (or the next)
as something intangibly sweet
like ice cold lemonade
on a hot summer’s day
which quenches a thirst
more than skin deep.
