The clock strikes at 2 pm,
While you stare blankly at the coffee half empty,
You watched the water vapour formed into thin cloud,
Vanished into thin air as time slipped away.

The conversations in a cozy cafe became louder,
Everyone's conversations became part of unnecessary music in your ears.
They sang about life's trouble,  
Questioned the whereabouts of their food,
Pounded if they should get a dessert.
And then, it went to silence again.
Your gaze drifted off,
Back to your troubled mind,
And suddenly you heard them again.

Rain filters
through fingers
slipping in between
the cracks
conversations, wet
fluid, bending against skin
pooling at feet
puddles, these topics
we are eager to stomp
dance, splashing
memories catching
on the hems of our clothes
drenching, our sensations
shiver, and we are cold
in these connections

The best message comes from you
But the worst part is, it makes me fall for you

a day of love
but spent it alone
saw you in a corner
but not on your own

beer in hand
big smiles and laughs
introduced by a friend
who knew we would cross paths?

conversations flowing
staring at each other's eyes
a smile like yours
caught me by surprise

left you for a while
and went for a dance
came back, you were gone
i've missed my chance

alone in a full room
thinking if we'll ever meet again
'twas short but magical
till then...

My body, driftwood
Remnants of a ship
That hit the wall
Hours ago
And floating
Conversations erode
Into splinters
Corpses, these words
Clutching at emotions
For one last lifesaver
To keep me alive
Drifting on the surface
In hopes to find home

I will sip

This life slowly

Remember you

By Friday

With each carbonated hiccup

Your face reminds me

Of brightly colored wrapping paper

Always loud with a mouth ready to be opened

So I will collect this life

Into a chipped tea cup

Slightly jagged edge that nips my lips

With every sip

Like our conversations

Gathering up tidbits

Of current events, laughter, and insults

Pour them across the table

Come Friday

So I will sip

This life slowly

I'm not going to sleep
because so far talking to you has been the best part of my day
and if i sleep now
tomorrow will be here quicker.

I lay here
In bed
Bathed in soft orange light
Thinking of you
And your phantom
Touch
And the tears that sting
My eyes when I think
Of you
And your soft, golden skin
And the pale amber that bathes my walls
And my face
And spills into the night
At 2 A.M. when I’m cold
And pulling
The rich velvet
Blanket of your laugh
Up to my chin
In the dark.

I like how our hands seem to have their own
conversations, apart from our mouths.
I like how we tell things we can't seem to say out loud.
In these spaces between,
Our fingers meet and they fit.
Perfectly.
No walls, no secrets

I like how our hands know how to be together
In times we can't seem to.