Their Favorite Coffee Shop

He watches her,

From across their favorite coffee shop,

Revels secretly at the sight of her

Getting lost…




crafted ages ago,

In another time,

In other places,

About other loves…

Ink on paper,

Heartbeats etched into exquisite lines,

Passion bled from dark poets

And tormented souls.

Her breath catches,

Her eyes close briefly in silent wonder,

Swirls of fragrant steam forgotten

In the mug beside her.

He watches her,

From across their favorite coffee shop,

Envious of the words that could

Ignite such a soul.




She never truly believed,

Never saw the possibility,

Never understood….


What had been boiling always,

Beneath her freckle scarred skin.


She had never been truly known,

Never been seen,

Never been feared …


Until He lit the match.




He fell

He fell for her from the shadows she cast;


Her words,

her laughter,

her light,

the way she loved those she called “mine”.


He walked beside her;



Standing guard over the girl

he was not brave enough to claim.


He fell for her from the shadows….
For he knew,

He could never hold captive such a burning thing …



The Letter

She folded the letter carefully,


Finally …

And slipped it back into the heavy linen envelope.
It’s creases deep, already worn with her indecision, so unsure of her words, her confession …

this, her final goodbye.

Steeling herself, she sealed in the last pieces of her heart that belonged to him, securing it with warm red wax, courage, and a few errant tears.

He would mourn her.
But she,
She was free now …
To live.


She spent her whole life burning,

From the inside out.

Like the surface of some tiny sun,

a danger to those who dared step too close.

“What a curse,” she thought, “Is such brilliant light!”

And so she raged,

Until all her flames,

at last,

were snuffed out.

Midnight found her on his evening walk,

lost and weeping,

Shivering in unfamiliar shadows.

Looking up into the stranger’s eyes, she thought, “At last, someone to sit with me for a while.”

He stood above her, smoke and sorrow slipping from the corners of his moonlit eyes, “You do not belong here.” He stated coldly.

And then, before continuing on his way,

he struck a match,

And threw it at her feet.



She is old worn-out denim draped sensibly over sequins and lace.

She is moonshine sipped from fine china and the sun-soaked drops of a glacier.

She is earth and wind and sea sewn indestructible with holy fire.

She is a border-less harbor seeking those meant to be hers.

She is joy and sorrow and a thousand fathoms deep.



 You say you don’t want me to go,

But you’ve done nothing to show me you want me to stay. 

You say you’re too stubborn to give up on us, 

But you haven’t even lifted a finger in the fight. 

You say you don’t want another’s hands to hold me,

But I can’t remember what it feels like to be within your own. 

You say you don’t want me to go,

But how… how could I ever stay?