French Cafe Evening

There you were, clinging to the remains of an French cafe evening. T-shirt and jeans, and eyes searching the distance. And outside the traffic is abuzz with its action. The clock, stops to dream, its hands empty now. We are in a museum of stillness, but still that sense of ages, persists. We are in the church of time, and time has become mislaid. I can only look at you again within all of the stillness, lest I may feel the fear of this moment, so you are exalted by me now, you have gained some greater position, as yet unbeknownst to you. We travel outside, the city streets are cold and hungry in the nighttime, they become lost within the darkness, and there is fear in the skies, and their only comfort is their stars. And shape shifting is happening, right before our eyes, that is, if only our eyes could look from outside of us. We can see only each other and this particular night, and perhaps our motion. The question to be asked is; 'Now where do we go?'