The couple sat just so,
At a small tight space and narrow table
In the crowded noise filled cafe,
For a moment in their busy day,
Knees not quite touching,
Eyes not quite meeting,
Their cheeks suffused
The bright beacon red
Of autmun apples.
And high above them,
In shadowed rafters
The serpent sang is sanguine song,
A chant to usher in,
Induce allure, entice them,
A short sweet bite,
To tempt them.
And so it starts once more,
Their coffees almost drunk,
For when they finish,
Fingers twitching,
It will begin again.

© Greg Richards

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