From Ipoh to Ipanema.

7am
She strolled down the isle
Her gaze never ahead
To the left
to the right
I watch her intently
her lips twitching
and her hand reddened from weight
of fruits and vegetables

7:05am
She stopped by
like her eyelashes
we never meet
not even in the thinnest of time
parted by north and south

7:07am
She passed by
leaving me
singing the bossa nova of Ipanema
comparing the melancholic move of the servant girl
I met in Ipoh
Filling time with space
and space with her.