“Let me wake up next to you, have coffee in the morning and wander through the city with your hand in mine, and I’ll be happy for the rest of my fucked up little life.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps
In a Café
She clasps the cup with both her hands,
Over the rim her glance compels;
(A man forgets his hat, returns,
The waitress leans against the shelves).
And Botticelli, painting in the corner,
Glances absorbed across a half-turned shoulder
Thinking of lilies springing where she walks
As she now rises, moves across the room,
(The yawning waitress gathers up the stalks,
The ash, the butt-ends and the dregs of tea).
Pausing between the gesture and the motion,
Lifting her hand to brush away her hair,
He limns her in an instant, always there
between the doorway and the emphatic till
With waves and angels balanced on a shell
– Rosemary Dobson
Limn is a new word for me, I love it. Now I just need to find ways to use it!