This Small Cafed On Purpose
you’re going away now, I can feel it. but can I be honest with you?
the cafe a murmur on the brain, its scattered sun spots we sat
on the same side of the green iron table top curling, rounded,
like fingers for holding, grasping. I'm afraid. I said first, knowing
I would get to ask all my questions knowing we’d sit there
our half eaten lunches, our half hidden glances. tell me we were great,
please, tell me we were. but first this cafed thought will hear what you
may even have forgotten. The Morning: Ladies in their fur coats on broadway
denying my entrance to a building where you wait for me.
the type of cold outside that spoke of winter as more fleeting than arriving.
as we were. as was everything you asked a question, the first i hadn’t
already know the answer “what will you tell your husband about me?”
how fine a question it was, to remind me what i knew would come of great things
We couldn't have ever made it, yet it had never occurred to me
this would be a story i would tell. i wish i paid better attention to you,
i wish i wasn't afraid, but that morning is gone. this cafe where you sit
waiting for me, leaving too. your face has the calm of someone who accepted
they are dying. no one notices I turn my head the same direction following your
gaze staring down the block where beams of light make it impossible
to see far along. we could say everything, I could ask if I really wanted to
but I realize time is up, I knew the answers anyway, we were great.
I look at you with a face strangely similar to yours. you know, I say,
I knew it was over when I only thought of you on purpose.