all that remains
of the evening
are adding water
to the coffee pot
the hopes
of dreaming of her smile
and
writing poems
for the other side
of the world
as i sleep

the main issue is
the coffee still needs
to be brewed
the dreams
are not certain
and
do i really want
to awaken
to this

so instead
i stare at the ceiling
as the pot
remains empty
the dreams
are pushed to side
and
the poetry is
mercifully
left unwritten