The Coffee Shop With burnt Orange Walls
Do You Write About Me, With My Ripper Jeans And Dark hair? So, I am Writing About You.
There’s a young woman
in this night coffee house
Sienna walls like soft fire and
chairs that refuse to match
She looks at me occasionally
and writes
A witchy smile and honeyed as
I imagine her tea to be which
steams the air like a lover’s bath
in winter
Does she write about me or
does she write of
someone from long ago
that I’ve brought back
like the whiff of
a perfume from
a childhood store
her mother took her
on Sunday afternoons?
Looking now again
you seem so sad
Was it Christmas
when this person
climbed slowly into your memory
like a lover into bed?
Winter snow and frosted windows
the taste of something sweet
Do you write about me, torn jeans and dark hair?
Well
I write about you
About the Creator
vihar vaghasiya
I am an entrepreneur and a content writer. I am making a blog to share my experiences with others. My blog is a mixture of general lifestyle, fashion and style tips. My motto is that life must be aesthetic as well as practical.
Keep reading
More stories from vihar vaghasiya and writers in Poets and other communities.
Tortured Soul
The soul careened blindly through a void where it scraped against the walls of a narrow tunnel, amassing a cumulative friction that created all the heat the devil would ever need to torment it. There was no light at the end, not even a fire. From the bottom a cold wind blew, and the clash of extremities spawned vapors of terror in the deadened and numbed appendage that was this strange, delirious, drunken consciousness.
By C. Rommial Butler6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.