It wasn't Starbucks (133)

Can I have a Chai Latte please?

He muses at a coffee shop,
drowning in regret.

He remembers when she left,
the smell of rejection lingering in his hair.
He remembers how he drank her up,
the burn of her on his tongue.

She wonders on a barstool,
a whirling planet off its axis.

She remembers when he left,
his shadow pooling onto her sidewalk.
She remembers how he pinned her,
the sting of his needle in her thread.

He looks up from his woes,
she plants her feet on the constant ground.

Neither remembers why
the dialogue lost in transition.
Neither remembers how
the moments fell like dominos.

Motion meets motion,
the raw wounds exposed to light.

Both wonder
if the swelling pain will numb.
Both hope
the Fates will cut their ties.

Yes, I'd like sugar.