If, perhaps, I could, perhaps have saved you today,
from boredom and lonliness, what would have been?
Another day of coffee kisses and singing together?
For another hour of another day would we have loved again?

Maybe you could have saved me from lonely coffee,
running from french class and the pretty, pretty girls.
Or would it have never been the same?
Would you have resisted my kiss
or lain faitheless in my arms again?
For once I'm sure to say I'll never know,
but what I know is this, he lied to you.
He's more a coward than I.
Your response was thanks and grateful
for offering my company.
"Anytime" I replied,
and meant it.

Lonely cigarettes and strange glances,
because I HAD to wash my hands.

Saw my friend who works for the man,
we talked films, as always.
How I'd love to take you to the movies.

We went to see my sister too,
pleased to see me, as always.

Now I'm sat in the same place we were,
three europeans girls (I guess) and more cigarettes,
writing you something I've no intention of showing you.

A long draught of bad coffee just makes me think of
the prelude to your kiss, and surprise.

She's interesting, I may ask her for a light.
I didn't.

I'm punctuating this poem with glances,
at the early evening coffee drinkers,
like me.

This really is the life, a parisienne twist,
in an english town.

Blame their heavy, sexy accents...

And my pen's running out,
maybe that's what I get for rambling on and spending so little
on my tools of the trade...

Nevermind, it works again.

Blame their heavy, sexy accents and the endless coffee,
overhearing of pointless, interesting conversation littered with gossip.

Do I finish here, though the night's so young?

I promised I'd call,
I need another cigarette.

Even the music is intoxicating...

Where is the intelligent company I long for?

Who knows?

Do I dare dream of you?

After throwing my change on the bar

just enough for coffee

I left our memories behind, to collect again another day.