Hands Bid Goodbye
An untouched cup of coffee
sleeps on the café table.
I want to take hold of your hands,
hands now clasped upon
a checkered tablecloth.
We both know it's over,
but no lies please.
being dumped
should be a fingertip moment.
Utter no pre-chosen words.
I promise to say nothing,
let the cooling,
once hot coffee, speak for us both.
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