Imagination

In the place where you once sat, I am home.
I sit, in the same seat,
Raspberry velvet cushions and
Darkly stained wood beneath my feet.
Rugs. No carpet. This is our kind of place.

I look in the mirror and instead of my face,
I see you.
See what imagination can do?
In this cafe, in my mind,
There is not one, but two.
Under the low swinging lights
I picture you here, late into the night,
Book in hand, not reading, but staring straight through.

See what imagination can do?
In this cafe, in my...