They minded their conversation,
The ants that came marching in.
Extra sugar. A little less cream.
The foam from their latte circled their mouths,
Disfigured steam still rising from their small cups.
A light comfort found after an hard days work.
Shuffling dirt from one hill to the next.
The politics of aching knees in search for a place to rest.
They use to come here often. Him and her.
Her eyes were like caffeine,
Swirling around the cup.
Stained styrofoam long discarded in memory.
In reality.
A neutral feeling strikes,
The cream doesn't taste the same since she left.
The latte doesn't taste the same since she left.
Just an empty cup, reminiscent
Of her essence