The romantic cafe lives on the corner of the avenue,

With wide arched eggshell windows,

It’s a place for friends to meet.

It struggles against the spluttering sharp rainfall,

Half clouded with condensation,

Separate from the blur of the London Streets.

The atmosphere is a dense, heavy fog,

An aroma of grounds churning,

against a coffee machine.

A plethora of hardcover books stacked high on shelves,

From fiction to fantasy,

Warmth is found within every crack and crease.

And in a small yet powerful moment,

the quaint romantic cafe,

becomes a place to lovely place to retreat.