Café made of cigarette smoke
and books
and computers

The flowers on the tables
wilt like the workers
who only know the taste of coffee

The customers
with black eyes
and paper skin
age 10 years with every passing hour

But you still shine so bright
from across the room
conscious and free

And I'm stuck with black fingers
and an open computer
unable to get up and follow you
out the door
because I'm locked inside
asleep -------- hoping maybe someday
you'll save me