lunch

people chirp and tweet,
nibble on the lunch-time crumbs–
probing for light among the shadows.

the afternoon sun rests low
on the floating passersby,
tangling
with the resting chairs and tables
on the footsteps of cafes.

our smiles and coupled eyes
hold the time
unlike the time, that holds us
with a promise of fools gold.

we sing, and soar the skies
our feathers leaving no trace:
our brooms sweep the day clean–
as the sun pass on its robe
to the night, I sit under
the twilight of your canvas
and mull over you
unexpectedly.

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