They minded their conversation,
The ants that came marching in.
Extra sugar. A little less cream.
The foam from their latte circled their mouths,
Disfigured steam still rising from their small cups.
A light comfort found after an hard days work.
Shuffling dirt from one hill to the next.
The politics of aching knees in search for a place to rest.
They use to come here often. Him and her.
Her eyes were like caffeine,
Swirling around the cup.
Stained styrofoam long discarded in memory.
In reality.
A neutral feeling strikes,
The cream doesn't taste the same since she left.
The latte doesn't taste the same since she left.
Just an empty cup, reminiscent
Of her essence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You are a poetic genius! Keep writing my young friend. You have the ability to touch others