The Café

September 4, 2011
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A door.
You look around, see familiar faces.
Everyone is sitting in their usual places.
A cup of coffee please, hold the cream.
You walk back to the table, mid-dream.
You smile, you caress your cheek.
With your tiny fingers, you play hide-and-seek.
You take a sip, slowly closing your eyes.
You hum, just loud enough to hide the sighs.
You open your eyes, you gaze outside.
The café in stormy weather is the perfect place to hide.
You grap your umbrella and stare in one direction.
Your coffee mirrors a placid reflection.
You twiddle your fingers, your constant obsession.
You click your tongue, a sign of affection.
You stand up slowly, mystified, adjusting your skirt.
You walk past the cashier, yearning for dessert.
A man is there, you hold your breath.
Your head hurts, you believe it’s Black Death.
He saunters towards you, mouth agape.
You kiss his cheek softly, holding his nape.
You let him go, he says your name.
You pick up your belongings and do the same.
You leave his presence and ignore his expression.
You walk out of the café, holding your possessions.
A door.





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