Ameta Phore

“Seeing a beautiful person like you is hot cider on a cold day to me.”
“The wha?”
“I don’t make sense much.. I’m a never ending road with no destination.”
“okay..” Her eyes are saying I’m nuts. And her feet are inching away from me, towards the next group. I guess you are probably right, i think back to her.
“So you from this neck of the woods?” I say.
“No,” she says.
“So where are you from? You know they say that where a person is from, will indicate secrets in their heart?”
“Oh they do? Well I am from the West.”
“Oh Okay.” I rub my invisible goutee, contemplating this new information.
“So what are the secrets in my heart?” I lean into her.
“You know if you come with me to dinner I will tell you about them..”
“That sounds tempting.. But I don’t know if your soul is a sweet melody through a gentle breeze, or black tarry cigarettes burned into a leather seat.”
“Good point. But if you change your mind, here is my number.” She let out a small laugh and then wanders away. After much time I still wonder about her if she lives in all day pass carnival, or she’s stuck on the next bus station out that never takes off and wondering about what our lives could have been like merged into a single coiled system. Oh well, guess I’ll never know now. Too bad. She was really beautiful cup of cider on a really freezing, much too long day.


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