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by Candace Turner From my balcony I study you day after day. You sit at the same table. Tease a latté from eight o'clock to noon. My hand holds a coffee cup. You drink; I drink. From a canvas sack slung over your left shoulder, you remove a journal. My diary pages are full of our imagined conversations. You write; I write. At one o'clock you stand, stretch stroll down our petal strewn path to the sea. I watch; I wait Often you return with a bikini clad young woman. The waiter brings a bottle of Dom P. Glasses clink. Air kisses exchanged. You sip champagne; I sip rosé. If only your eyes would gaze upwards. Meet mine. Together we would toast summer days. New beginnings.
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