Every moment...
Every day...
Brings stories...
'of being sad and also gay...'
This moment...
For instance...
Is a pristine chance...
A chance out of busy life
To fling away all worries and sighs...
And a chance sweet and brief though
A glassy city through a silent window...
A cup of warmth nostalgic brew
A taming of a restless shrew...
A book of life as viewed
by an old wise candid write...
Seats red and violet bright...
Wooden floors reverberate songs concerning flight...
Of fancy the cheater liquid like an exotic wine
All become part of the short story mine...
This moist city noon rare
Weaves stories for me...
And also perhaps for her...
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