Refrains in Every Corner of the City

I am extremely wise and naïve: this must be what love is.
What could it mean, thinking that as I walked up the stairs?
The coffee is great in here. I wish this ended with a silhouette,
you turning your Gaia smile to me—it can’t;
but you in your pants: God.
I reckon they’d kick you out of here for being dressed like that,
but they wouldn’t. The man opposite loves his coffee; I could cry
in here and nearly not have the refrains anymore. Peel me off the floor. I don’t know.
Walk in like nothing. It’s been a year.
I’ll be so bad after this. But of course

I get on the bus and it’s the oldest
sweetest couple, her hand on his leg, resting,
no ideas they get off, barely shuffling along the path.
She beamed at me as she passed, not letting go of him,
he didn’t even hurry or tut, they could have
minutes what am I doing. I barely tasted the coffee. Truth!
I just think it was you.