Tea Time Poetry

City of My Memories

I'm back in the city,

the city of magic.

I ride in a fast car that takes me home.

The warm summer night's air hits my fingers

that stretch through the top window.

The air is thick like frosting.

The warmth is similar to coming in

to a warm house

from the biting winter winds.

The red dots hover above the asphalt

and dance like people in Cinderella's ball.

I look up to see the pink clouds

against the darkening blue sky.

The orange lights illuminate 

the interior only for a second,

to then be replaced by the next orange whisper.

The music,

turned up too loud,

is only a soft murmur to me,

like someone whispering

sweet nothings into my ear.

I look through the front window to see

towering buildings

that both softly but sharply

outline the horizon.

The bright advertisements happily,

almost aggressively, 

greet me.

I look up again to see the sky,

the beautiful

midnight blue sky,

void of stars.

It only has the crescent moon,

stuck like a sticker

on a priceless painting.

I look once more at the city I love.

It changes before me

to the city of my memories.