inside the Italian cafe

you are seated
fronting me

beside me is my
wife sipping her
cappuccino

i look at you closely
you are beautiful as usual

long black hair
and soft fingers caressing each lock

an old night
and french music playing inside
an italian resto-cafe

i guess life is like that
an instance when one cannot do anything
except to gaze

my wife says
the cappuccino tastes much better in this cozy place

and you look at me
as though i am one kind of fire burning and burning

and you are fire too
and the whole place is burning too

outside the rain is heavy
and some cars are stopping on a traffic jam

a girl wearing blue jeans
gets inside the restobar and she is wet all over

here it is
this fire burning and burning still

water from her breast
drips and the floor is wet

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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