She

The still of the coffee in its cup. Black on porcelain.

The curve of her lip, where a cigarette should be.

The coffee quivers as people pass (the street is busy)

She stays serene

Something I say snaps her back to life

Her eyes flicker first,

But that’s not it-

Here come the words

She slices me up

I am done for.

 

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About hereisthemoment

I write. Sometimes I don't.

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