Coffee Shop

I met her in the coffee shop She hid me from a violent cop She didn't care if I'd been hooking She gave that cop a sober look and Said, "She ran out that back door" While underneath the check-out stand I curbed a giggle, touched her hand And saw that copper nevermore. For thirteen days and nights we played We laughed and sighed, no promise made Not one moment were we apart I loved her dearly from the start Now I sit alone with mocha And a side of almond roca Our final meal: rice with veggie taco Then she left forever for Morocco. This poem I regard as a failure. It's odd it took me several months of periodic tinkering looking for the perfect words and scans that would rescue it from clunkiness. I think the last line is perfect for this poem, but leading up to it are so many little bad choices for which I could not find better. But I'm giving up, and sharing it as-is, as after all that work on it I hate to just throw it away.