Broken promise to a left behind fey woman

Cloaked in silence, these stars bear,
Spelt in book of my passionate dreams,
Demoiselle you have the wildest eyes,
What blinds are to see and deaf to hear?
Carven name I’d remember to baptize,
In the forest of promise, on every tree,
Woman of sacred heart, or so it seems,
I shall revisit for you’re dearest to me.

Queen's Lane Coffeehouse

 

And as walled chestnut pure,
Restricted imagery only secure,
Where the broken ones trade
Teacups and hearts glass made.

Steamed air from brew machine
Or precise miracles of caffeine,
Breathe counter born contribution
In hearsay or polite conversation.

Yet, of the shop in street corner
Soul lies not in beans however,
Rather ladies with skirts unfold
And sires who fondly behold.

Lovers, whose wishful eyes lock,
Let crescendo of wordless talk,
And loners, desolations surpass,
Gaze from behind the wineglass.

What’s sorrier than any woe?
For those who come and they go,
Comes who(ever), times cleave,
Because people always leave.