The Morning Latte

The Morning Latte

By Brandon Palzkill

He sits on the park bench

sipping his latte,

thinking of her,

his one and only.

An unclaimed cup

warms the seat beside him;

cooling; unwanted;

coffee without a purpose;

doomed to exile.

Pedestrians amble by,

caught up in their

day to day affairs,

and care not

for the vacant cup.

To him, the cup is love;

he watches it, wistfully,

as sorrowful strings of steam

escapes its pierced lid;

signs of its haunted loneliness.

He remembers the days

when the cup would be claimed,

and she would smile behind

her morning latte,

but colder days have come

and her smiles

are no longer for him;

the latte’s left freezing,

wishing for her kiss.

A trembling hand reaches out;

he follows it to her,

the one who got away.

She offers a smile to him;

a peace offering to warm

 his insides,

as the welcomed drink

will warm hers.

she sits beside him

and everything is right.

Once again,

they share the park bench

and a smile,

they share lattes and warmth,

a crisp January morning,

but most of all,

they share their hearts.