On McGregor Street

Walking above the city’s
blue version
breathing in warm jazz
smooth as milk steam
from the Italian coffee machine
in the Pigeon Hole Cafe
our paper kites have been put away
night slows down the day
in your own sweet way
coins like a starry night in the open case
of the double bass
in your own sweet way
the empty street where love is
before we take our place among
the tiny lamps in the whiskey bar
and the whole scene is playing on your face