True Story

There were sprinkles in her eyes, but I couldn’t notice, too lost was I in candy-coated thoughts of a land where the girls danced on striped sugar poles and the kisses they blew were chocolate. Pyramids give way to skyscrapers and time moves on like a golden river where one taste is never the same as the next. Still I wish I had thought to cross her more with more wit. It wasn’t till later that I thought about how grandely I could have sprinkled myself in her. Sweet sugar drunk together, dreaming of worlds that hadn’t existed till we spoke the words silently together star gazing in a field of coffee beans and fairies. Too saccharine thoughts of love when really all I could think to say was, “my mint mocha’s grande too, babe.” She would never buy my magic beans, roasted in the heat of unfulfilled desire, ground under the weight of self-made promises broken. Feeling like the ass instead of the juan, slumped down I just moved on to the next barrista at the next java shack, with a sprinkle in her eye and minty disposition.