That moustached man intrigues me.
Such angst and turmoil, sadness and hair pulling avidity.
I wonder how much of it is because he sits alone in this crowded pub,
finds it de rigueur to the fill the empty space around himself with unnecessary motion.
all I want to do, on this day before the day before,
is to lay my hand on his thin artistic shoulder
and whisper a reminder
to wear a curly smile above your lips
- such cheery jungle jim arms drawing rosy apples on your cheeks-
is a recipe for joy.
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