sheltering your mug from the cold
I could feel the chips in ceramic
the residue of you quitting
a memory lost to a dirty sink
did we ever even meet?
drink our coffee apart now
stale in your memory
I trace rings and see things
but mostly your car
in the parking lot
I think it was about the view,
or maybe the open-concept
so you could see through me
just by coming in the door
I’ve heard this before:
transparency kills the chase
but you liked my banter
and the freckle on my neck
you told me your stories
things I’ll never forget
I drink my coffee alone now
new tin in the cupboard, but I
can’t let go of your flavour
your mug not in my sink.
The art of spilling over 