89. Food park short stories

I go out at times

and drive through the places

we once passed 

side by side

with our hands

holding tight

the same trees

that once witnessed

my enchanted face

fixated on yours

now wonder 

where that beauty has gone

I just nod them 

and they understand

you could come to me

on one of those summer nights

while I'm sitting on a patio

under a web of lightbulbs

and emerge from

the sea of faces

and murmurs

as I see your silhouette

through my frosted glass

eclipsing everything else

with your charm

you could come 

on your almost floating pace

and give me that magical smile

just as you get halfway 

to my table

I think I heard

a mellow melody 

on Billie Holiday's voice

in the background

and as you get closer

the brass is getting ready

for the climax

the trumpeter is moisting

his lips

as he takes a deep breath

I sense it 

with a soft breeze

I take a big gulp

of a locally brewed IPA

to get ready

but when I put down 

the glass

you're gone

I guess

that breeze

was you

caressing me

and telling me

you can't stay