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