Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

our table cloth seemed more white

i shouldn’t have done it
hindsight being holy fuck

the check was paid

our table cloth seemed more white
because we were in kentucky

i remember the moment
a gust of wind violated
the stoic iron tables
where we held
doomed court
along the river promenade

that look is his eyes
what it was to see a man’s heart break

a red sea
parted in his tea cup

the pitcher of cream
screamed blasphemy

bridge lights shook into new evening green
fearing the blackening sky

when i admitted
to him
and the over priced pastries

that you were loved best
and kept
with the word

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