it begets longing, teary and measured.
Minuets of reflection pool in memories torn
from a refined process long passed,
leaving treacle, sweet and low impact,
for all to savor at the curbside cafe.
This is where harmony collapses
to the cobblestone, splintering the grout
but not lessening the strain
that place, the humble intermediary for everything,
places upon us.
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