I sipped my latte, half-watched fingers of smoke tickle the window

i don’t know how i know you, & i know we’ve never met.

i know you’re miles away, but

with a single word, or two, maybe a phrase and i feel your heartache on the tattered couch beside me,

and my hand’s on your knee, lightly, just present with someone I don’t know at all.

i know you started crying in the Rite-Aid, while I looked at you over the aspirin.

And that you read Bukowski with puffy eyes, I sipped my latte, half-watched fingers of smoke tickle the window, watched you, wondered, why?

Lonely, nowhere to go, lost on the streets of Manhattan. It tells more about me than you

that i know just your few words, and I am your tragic lover, on the couch & in the café our distance greater than the miles,

wanting to touch your heart across a gap I don’t know how to cross.

so let’s wrap our arms in long sleeves and be thankful, and go our own ways, til the next word brings me there.