Taste the coffee, taste the smoke.
Stir the tea, try not to choke.
The days are longer, like summer came too soon.
I miss the cold days in fall that seemed like seconds with you.
You and I and a red framed bed.
Pressing my lips gently on your head.
I was in love, what was I to you?
Something less notable, something less true?
Just a best friendship with a wrong turn?
I try to move forward and try to learn.
800 miles and almost a year ago,
I held you one last time, and then you let go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem