by: Lello Tesema

something about lonesome afternoons and listless, baggy eyes

i miss my cappuccino

nomadic footsteps sashayed away from the suspensions i called “school” …

my afternoon ritual at the café, with unfriendly “friends” who ranted of abstract algebra
and papers and such
i pretended to listen, only until my lips met the froth on my cappuccino, clouding the
obscurity i waded through in “school”
i used to sit tucked in a cozy room pervaded with smoke and song … tucked in …
sipping …
superficial strangers rhapsodize of pink dreams, high-heeled boots … etc
it didn’t bother me, so long as my mind was tucked in a froth of friendly thoughts

inevitably, my lips arrived at the sugary dregs clustered on the sides of my empty cup

All is empty,

Again

it is time to go,

Again

a perennial practice of going, and going

(this time) with a sticky residue lining the corners of my lips.