X Marks The Spot

X Marks The Spot

The seats we sat on,

mine precariously, cross-legged but not comfortably,

balancing the weight of something both new and nostalgic,

the way you took off your denim jacket,

the way you fidget with your wristbands out of habit.

The cups we drank from,

yours plastic, mine ceramic.

I think they sensed the flush from our skin

when the ice in yours melted,

no attention paid to how they tasted.

We all knew, me and you didn’t show up for the coffee.

The ground we walked on,

mindless pacing yet purposeful.

Were our steps in time,

following the trail of crumbs through our past lives?

I’ll mark each stop with a cross,

treasuring the map that sends us round and round in buried circles.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s