TOBLERONES, COFFEE & FATE

           at the clouds
         p
       u 

i look 

escaping ideas / pending moods

i look at the roofs

                  a

                 i n
                r   g

the neat tiled t     l

                      e rows

resemble an armoured toblerone

~


half-awake
i can smell the coffee

its in my hand (duh)

force-stopped
but the roses are to far

i point instead (thatll do)


~


i 

am 
wondering - 

is fate 

our predictability 

dressed up 

in a mystics cloak 

or the universal message

thru a faulty radio ?