drunken poets,
pouring out their melancholy lives
into ink.

eyes, singing with joy
under the spotlight,
along with nervous hands,
shaking violently,
crumbled paper in fist.

two rows back,
I sit with a cold coffee in hand.
new mixtures
playing with my comfort.

foot tapping,
after an applause,
congratulations on your wonderful find.

beat down chairs through the door way;
once upon a time the four of us sat there,
sharing each breath.

sweet poems,
and kind words
making coffee oh so less bitter.

a firm squeeze of a hand,
reassuring me that tonight
I won't be alone.

covered in crisp leaves,
these breaths
have been replaced with unanswered phone calls,
and the rubbing together
of two rocks.

no longer dancing
as fast as we used to.