when i have flowers

the golden butter croissant 

warms up lazily in the old toaster

i look out of the window 

as i crush spices in my pestle and mortar

the black tea is ready

i get the blackberry spread

weekend  mornings 

always play with my head

i go down memory lane

remember the times when i sat on the warm bank of the river

staring at the worm moon 

my pretty flat feet in cold water

happy with friends

ice cream in hand

feeling like a rockstar

in some unknown band

the golden butter croissant 

and my black tea go cold

life is more than promising

when i have flowers and your hand to hold

Photo by Thirteen .J on Unsplash