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)

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