Cold

Single latte,
Spoon, fork and knife;
Looking across the abyss
An empty seat waits

Walking
Smooth tiles underfoot
Alone, hands in pockets
Not together, hand in hand

Nothing else,
Unfamiliarity alone.
Unforgiving stares,
Passerby to passerby

Glances at
Paired bliss stealing away
Six inches into glass
Face faces Face

Hands fumbling,
With buttons, not flesh
Shut out hope of contact
With reality of imagination.