Latest Blog Post

I Long

A coffee cup sits on the table like an old day,
Your fingerprints on it, not mine, yours.
A spilled stain, leaking from the mouth of time,
I called it longing, you called it “coffee.”
The street lamp flickers outside like longing,
One side is dim, the other is burning.
“How long has it been,” I say, you say “years,”
But your eyes say something else, as if you have come to finish a poem you left yesterday..
I put my hands on the table, yours are next to them, close but not touching.
Love sits between us like a shadow, it does not speak, it only looks.
“We are friends,” you say, your voice is a thin rope, it draws me to you but does not break..
The passing time is a tulle curtain, your face behind it, remains from an old summer.
I do not say “I miss you,” there is no need, the steam in the cup is already saying, you do not hear it.
We have met, like friends, but a street inside me is still looking for you…