Silent Company
Croissants with ghosts—
or maybe they prefer toast.
Shadows rarely answer;
they only listen.
If I did more of that,
perhaps I’d know their tastes.
Silent coffee companions,
ink spreading in the corners,
morning thick with introspection.
I do know this much:
like me,
they prefer quiet.
Sunrise.
Dry eyes.
Not crying this time.
We sit together
like old friends,
early risers who share
the same hidden desire—
to be seen,
to be wanted.
Though they are dark,
sometimes cold,
I welcome them.
It was their icy embrace
that taught me to cherish
the rising sun
warming my face.
Silent Company
Croissants with ghosts—
or maybe they prefer toast.
Shadows rarely answer;
they only listen.
If I did more of that,
perhaps I’d know their tastes.
Silent coffee companions,
ink spreading in the corners,
morning thick with introspection.
I do know this much:
like me,
they prefer quiet.
Sunrise.
Dry eyes.
Not crying this time.
We sit together
like old friends,
early risers who share
the same hidden desire—
to be seen,
to be wanted.
Though they are dark,
sometimes cold,
I welcome them.
It was their icy embrace
that taught me to cherish
the rising sun
warming my face.