"She dumped me for 90 days, then called me"
a phone call I heard on my way

"It's like we're breaking bread"
a couple sharing a cookie

"Let me call this guy real quick"
Once a son arrived to meet his dad

"Say cinnamon five times fast."
That same couple

"I bought her three phone cases and she left them all in my truck."
cont. of that phone call

"Again"
Says the little girl singing in French with her mother

"We just wrote a silioque about missing summer"
The couple

He smiles at me
May I take your order please
Cappuccino, latte, or me
Frothy steam
Coffee kisses daydream
Red lipstick blotch on the coffee cup
Thank you
Your welcome

I must look ridiculous
to these other café patrons—
just a woman with orange-dyed hair
blinking back stubborn tears,
trying not to cry
into her honey, lemon, and ginger.

But I sit there, half-failing
to maintain my composure.
I look anywhere else—
up at the ceiling,
out the window,
trying not to meet anyone’s eyes.

These tears dare to seep,
but this sadness needs to steep—
not pour.
Or else they'll overflow
in overwhelm.
I must take the helm.

So I take a sip:
that warm, sweet bitterness
rights the ship.
And the gentle calm
soaks back in.
They may glance over and wonder
What must be on her phone
To evoke such emotion?

Oh, don't mind me
I'm just writing poetry
about a silly girl,
and her hopes for understanding
Falling onto deaf ears yet again
and again,
and again,
and again
One more long swill
A sharp intake of breath
They prickle at my eyes,
Again

My teacup is empty -
I think I'll need another ***
For the sake of my sanity
I cannot let them see it pour
For a flood, an empty teacup
Has begot

We sit in the coffee shop—
laughter spilling loud,
hearts full,
like the beans brewed deep in our cups.

For a fleeting moment,
we set the world right,
and nothing exists
beyond us four
and this tiny corner
of time and space.

Rays of Sun baptismal,/
Glisten upon my /
Sol- Dazed epidermis /
As I /
Waft in throes /
Of Beauteous romance & /
Wax hypnotized by /
The sweet nothings of my/
Desiderata Materialista Transcendentalista. /

Resting in the algid embrace of /
The Hiemal Winds /
Atop my /
Voluptuary Ivory Tower, /
In this cup I, I savor the flavor, /
Of ambrosia stimulanté: /
—Rousing me with each sip, /
Of sweet deific nectar, /
Starbucks Pike Place with White Chocolate Mocha Creamer. /

The former barista in me, /
Waxes & wanes in waves; moreover /
The past is derelict, /
The future is nigh, /
The present is luminous /
As I /
Wonder Upon /
The seasons, the distance, the space, and the time,/
That separates me from mi amour, ~ a moment in time. /

(—Se’ lah)

I met my younger self for coffee.
That morning.

Only I never liked the taste then.
Like I still don't like the taste today.

I sit across from a wide eyed girl.
Dressed like she was attending a funeral.
With big dreams to become.
Everything they never thought she could be.

Her smile filled with hope.
With a single question in her mind.
"Did we make it?"
She's too excited to stay still.

I sipped the tea I ordered.
While she is served hot coco.
That reminds her of better days.

She thinks she knows everything.
So it's hard to tell her she doesn't know enough.

Her smile I know hides.
A million secrets.
She puts on a good facade.

It would **** her if I told her.
All things they did.
The men she met.  

Yet if I told her we went to a theater in london.
With friends we never thought we'd find.
She'd scream out with glee.

But it's not my place.
To mess with time and space.
So I saved the good stuff as a secret.

All I whisper.
All I can say.
"We made it out alive."

She stares out of the window in disbelief.
Wanting to have heard much better news.
I take her hands in mine.
"Your better days are still to come.
We have so many more dreams than we did before."

She smiles through the disappointment.
As her phone begins to call.
We still keep our phones on silent.
Because we never liked the noise.