I remember sitting here before;
Remembering I had sat here before,
Promising I would never find
Myself back here, sitting and
Can no longer utter a sentence
Coffee-laden, smoky wheeze.
These movements are slower now,
Though perhaps they are the same
As before, and it is
That has become clumsier and slower.
Is this the last time
I will sit here,
Lost in memory?
Taking a capuccino?
Or will this place come once again
To me, unbidden,
As so many times before?
Will you come,
As you did, that first time,
A haycart loaded with
Curiousity and irresistable Accusations?