Coffee Date

The first snow of the year 

falls in light flurries 

as the last of the sun disappears 

over the tall trees.

My hands are numb 

and my face is flushed.

I’m watching your car 

pull from my driveway 

and onto the narrow road,

bursts of red and yellow light 

amidst the black.

You’re going away again.

I’ve dreamt of this night 

and this farewell, 

and how your mouth 

would feel pressed to mine;

how you’d whisper your goodnight 

and leave me breathless.

Instead, every quivering breath 

becomes a plume of smoke, 

soaring skyward 

until it fizzles and fades.

The cold nips at my ankles 

and I miss you already.

Next time, I think 

we should go for coffee 

and take residence 

in a window-side booth 

to watch the gloom of winter 

race down the hazy glass.

Our names written in permanent inks,

Our lips never meeting our drinks.