Black rims and jeans,
they roam, waiting
until it is done.
Hot, the steam marks their spot,
like little campfires they huddle.
With light and thoughts as their view,
they sit in love.
They don’t talk yet, they don’t have to.
Love on a saturday afternoon, when the day is grey and the tea burns as you sip,
quietly you sit looking away to only be stared at.
Talk of friends, places and weather starts with ease,
until it moves to an excited pace,
until you don’t have anything else to say.
Silence again as you stare away, only to be stared at.
Giddily the conversation moves from sighs to you know whats,
love on a saturday afternoon, when the day is grey and time runs out.
Can it survive on the mundane,
is there a future in the simple and delicate talk of friends and life,
without saying what the other should hear.
You ramble only to be become a friend.
Love on a Saturday afternoon.
sitting and listening to rants of life,
how nice it is to share,
remember when and did I ever tell ya.
How mundane and they both know it,
not even the caffeine can energize this.
Love on a saturday afternoon.
