i burned my tongue on late november
last year, we were still together.
and now, lonely girls sit under fake
blue moons, twisting
their lives into small categories: the before and
hey, don’t think it’s romantic just because
of the lo-fi coffee
sounds. last year, we
were bold and defiant: miniature buddhas bounced in palms
and thrown at rooks.
and now, when the coffee music plays
we sing along, but
only in our heads, at separate tables, alone.