Last time, when we met, you asked for a cup of coffee. After, you dropped your body on that poor chair.
Your lips touched the rims of that warm cup, disguising your face in that aromatic fog.
We never spoke, I ignored you, I slipped far with my eyes.
Dark clouds and silent storms among our spectators.
I saw a red rose inside your bag pack. I reached out to a painful secret, a love letter emerged on the surface.
I guess it was the end, I tried to draw faces of carelessness with a magic ink, but its washed out with a fresh spring of tears.
Your coffee got cold, like our deadly rendezvous. I gained the strength to walk away. I need to open a new door. I need to dream.