Cold Coffee

The seat on my

opposite is still empty.

your coffee has lost

it's steam

and turned frigid,

and your warmth

on that seat,

is replaced by cold.

your footprints

are still punched

on the mattress of snow.

And I, sat solemnly,

waiting for the next day,

when I wipe out the drafts

off my window,

hoping to see you

tracing back

your own footmarks,

to the door that I never

flipped closed.

@Farhan Shyk

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