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The Window
People passing
Most paying little attention,
But every now and then
Someone stops
To look into the window,
The street drunk
Not knowing where he is
Wondering what in the hell
Is going on,
Neighbouring merchants
Curious about who is
Moving in,
Those who know
Checking on the progress,
Once in a while you
Catch a smile
Make a visual connection,
Sometimes a beautiful woman
Connects in those short
Milliseconds that last forever
As two minds struggle
With where you met before,
Always that slight blush
In her rush to pull away
From looking in the window.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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