A Table for Two

Innocently sitting

A table for two

Sleeping with the chapters

Blocking out sirens

Change dropping to the street

Erasing her ex’s and lovers

Breathing in marinated chicken

Waiting patiently for her

Garden salad swimming in

a pool of ranch dressing

Crowds of fake gestures

walk by in Navy and silver suits

Gazing at her long legs

Continuing to turn crisp pages

Blinded by “ A table for two”

Only sitting one

Loneliness is inconclusive

Perhaps it’s a choice

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  1. I always needed to be alone. And since there’s more than one way to be alone, I’d say all writers are utterly, terribly alone… in a sense. Loved this.

    Liked by 1 person

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