Our Romance Was
My romance is
lattes on a Sunday morning
where foam coats our lips
and we clear the bubbles with a kiss,
wine on a Friday night
as our giggles build with every accumulating glass,
smiling eyes speckled through Saturday
as we ignore the idea we will have to say goodbye soon
Our romance was
skipping breakfast on a Sunday morning
as we rush to the transit station
leaving without a goodbye,
watching tv on a Friday night
as you drift asleep
after a week out with your friends,
our Saturdays were lightly dotted with smirks
spaced out
as you walked ahead
and I fell back
We spoke different love languages,
we led different lives,
I wanted our we to work,
but our romance was never destined to be
-POE(MS)
