Going For Coffee Poem by Alix Mangerian

Today,
I read one of your poems
when I should have been working.

Peculiar
how words strung together
like Chinese lamps
bravely staving off the darkness
of a humid summer night
force you to my mind:
Spotlight,
Center stage,
wry smile on crimson lips.

What touches your skin now?
Who strokes your hair while you sleep?

If I could call you
casually to have coffee with me,
I'd ask about your life
and make crass comments about your replies
to make you smile,
while you flick ash and glowing embers away
from your Virginia Slim fingers.

Or perhaps you've quit,
and I'd be forced to congratulate you,
my heart cursing the way we choose practicality
over romance.

I've never been good at ending things.
I prefer to let them drift
just out of sight
without breaking the ties.
Selfish,
I know.
Which is why I was sipping
this morning's coffee this afternoon
reading your poems
instead of working.