coffee shop

A nap on a hot afternoon lingers, hazy consciousness. A gift of the mundane, interrupting the flow of altogether much too self-important contemplations.

A stranger’s smile makes its way past the interfering plant, in no particular direction. Busy hands play games with attention, reigning it back in so as not to make a fool of itself.

Laughter and the smell of roasted chocolate mingle, poisons go down smooth. Clean laundry, nearly dry, plays chicken with the storm. Cinnamon and clover dance with walnuts in each bite, and lonely plate remains, unafraid in its loneliness.

Thoughts expand lazily on humid air, visiting ideas navigate cautiously; some retreat, others enjoy the challenge. Delicate hands fold idly and paper becomes toy. The trickster spins stories that will never be, in time that never was. Pen imitates poorly.