Past Addiction
A quiet café, perfect for my Paris musings
never been there, but read the books, seen the movies.
Two tables sans ashtrays, anyway the café is empty,
I order espresso, bitter coffee, sweet milk froth steaming.
You enter, and sit at your table, separate but not too far away
nervous smiles, green eyes glance at blue, watching me watching you;
my face flushes, breath quickens, do you feel it too?
Your tongue flits from lush lips to laps the cream from your cappuccino
Your white teeth smile, you lean back and light
your cigarette, no filter, dark French tobacco.
Cursing my past addiction, I know it can never be.
quickly finish my coffee, leave my sum
rise and return to my cubicle,
knowing our paths will never cross again.
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