The Moth Cafe Poem by Gordon R Menzies

The lobby elevator slides open, time spins
the ghost of you steps out, passes through
people and potted plants unnoticed, that
mischievous smile of yours flits like a moth
through the glass of an unopened doorway
into the little café where we'd meet, sip
black coffee on your short breaks, and
I find in my patchy, veteran heart that
your big eyes are still lingering here
black moths following a white one, and
here Lauper still sings Time After Time
as though the radio is tuned, like me
tinny and nostalgic and indistinct, to
the moments when you and I were one
and sifting through the countless kisses
my coffee is tasteless without you
the moths dance over my listless hands
dropping words in sad fragments, ones
I should've given you freely, crumbs
of wearied memory on the tabletop like
powder and dust from their old wings