five minutes

A short poem I wrote one time, with lack of theme.

A busker played a song which reminded me of you
and as I turned to see
the world metamorphosed into a canvas
washed with
dull greys and silhouettes,
inviting me to paint on it my nostalgia.
Melancholy surges, and I fill my head
with images of coffee jars filled with your name.
I chalk you onto my Christmas list, and let my eyes swim in their sockets.
My favourite sport is playing with the thought of having you again.

Five minutes might change everything.

Author's Note

I'm not sure what this poem resembles, but that's the beauty of it. Read between the lines and you will find empty space. There's nothing to it.
I threw some words I liked into sentences and lay them upon a page. Then I typed it up.

Let me know what you think; I would love to hear your opinion, and maybe a have a chat.