Moment

Sitting outside, not really waiting for anything,
next to you.
The awning over us yawns tiredly at the street,
it's red rug tongue has seen newer days.
The years of the building lean nostalgically on us as
small white lights frame our moment.
The cold gives away our breath's disguise.
My hand resides in yours as we conquer the chill.
Let's just stay here and watch the world pass.
Your hand on the side of my face,
as if it were art,
as if it were love.
Close your eyes