Coffeeshop Blues

I sit sipping my dirty chai, 

the cup with a lipstick  

stain 

on the side and a laptop 

screen blaring 

before my eyes. 

An english rose 

paints the wall, 

leaves curling around the 

edges of its smile. 

I take another sip. 

I’m trying to think of my 

next words as the autumn leaves twist 

outside in the giddy air

whispering… 

whispering to my heart. 

The voices in my ears seem ethereal, 

too real for the distance of an earbud and 

a thousand miles, 

months or years between us. 

every day they sing to me, 

only me, 

honey-slick milk with 

things to say. 

I look at my watch. 

Nutmeg wisps up my nose, 

the ladies at a close table giggling like  

children, 

our infancy never leaving 

but suppressed. 

I look grown but I feel 

young, 

a toddler in fancy dress 

with piercings and frills. 

Quick - the chai’s going cold.