Coffee Shops Poem by A Waltz For Zizi

Coffee Shops



Yesterday you wrote me
that I am completely what
I write. Was that an aversion
towards the things that
remained the same?
It couldn't be.

I think about all the coffee tables
stained with the aroma of your
fingertips, the cups that wore
your fingerprints and lipstick,
your nervousness that remained
quietly on the other side of
those tables and the gap between
our lips. Of course I knew you
did not love me, but I remained
hopeful you will find that city
boring and hurry your steps back.

The times have descended on you
on us, and the coffee shops
they all have closed, robbing
me of all the memories
I had of you. I thought these
things would endure more
that when you'd get there you
will understand I am not
like them, I'm not like anyone.

So, it is the long wait that's
hurting me, having only one
of your letters in my palm,
it is unnaturally hard that
I have to wait another week
for the other to arrive,
although you have told me
you already wrote it.

I'm riding the train now.
A man is standing right beside
me. I'm afraid he might see
what I'm writing to you.
I don't care what the world
thinks of me, but you should
not be stained, so I'm stopping
here. P.S.Your lips promised me
you would not stay long there
that I must be valiant enough
and wait. I hope you keep your promises.

Saturday, June 6, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: hurt,letter,love
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