book store isle

In a crowded book store
I look for signs of life
The taste of fresh-baked bread
Cut with a pocket knife,
A bottle of Chateau Something
Warm breeze, a star-filled night
The moonlight on your lips
As you take your first bite,
The bread, the wine, the moment
Reality or a dream
A crowded book store isle
Things aren't what they seem.

Our eyes make brief contact
We both wish to speak
We both know what we want
We both know what we seek,
But the pocket knife stays folded
The bread in the baker's case
How can we ever finish
If we never start the race?
I know not the answer
The image is so clear
Perhaps we'll meet next week
Perhaps some distant year…