You're probably less than sixty minutes away

the air condition whirring as a cup of coffee

warms your palm and

watching the hypnotic wisps condense

on the stirring spoon under the light of a singular lamp.

Your fingers create shadows as your hand

hovers across the scribbled lines

swiftly passing time with soft tunes in your ears.

And me here

sixty minutes too far.

But I can almost hear your breath

whispered in the static

feel your fingers warming mine

around the coffee cup

you smell of smoke and sun

and sweet kisses on my neck

savouring every second as the

night fades.

Almost.