At London’s El Street

I smiled
Shook my head
My air full of happiness
Sat the exact spot on the tube
Where an exchange was graced to a well smooth cube
In endurance, Like dejavu
Gazing back into time
A day before Friday
Thinking behind my head
Smiling before my heart
As realism slaps my face off delusion
But still spot a sparkle

People in their work wear turn their heads
Towards that spot
As I pinged this little piece
On my little keys
Heading to meet precisely the same subject
Heading from when we met
For the same purposes
As I chuckled
Well almost
I wonder at 3:55pm somewhere at L. St
Where the world throws him
While I sketch that chart
Of where I think he be
Or where I glide

My eyes look up
As to be conscious of not been oblivious
A little girl with her dad smiles at me
I smile at her
Dropping my head towards this
Imaging how I walked into his space from the station
With my hair wrapped like a dame from the 70’s
On a typical July summer
Frustrated at the stale smell of sweaty bodies
And the cramped carriage
Coupled with inclinations of fatigue

Yet he is a different space
And maybe a focused pace
Identified as such a lace
Not even
He stares at me silently
He speaks to me
In uncertainties
I smiled but inclined
Not understanding where
But knowing we float about a meadow
And truly in no trance
Was a delicacy of chance

It became as real as the world could be
As unpredictable as having four seasons in a week
What do we feel in our hearts
My emotions as a clock ticks
I wish to hold on something new as this
Gently kiss your insides
As I remain shut in your arms
My world will change
I pray this beauty never dwindles…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s