Neon Presence

Moon hid behind clouds and the café dimmed
its neon aura against the night. Or perhaps, it never
dimmed but shone brighter, an electric presence
shrinking the sadness of darkened terraces. Next table,
a couple traversed each other with caressing
hands, exploring territory too tender to Asian eyes.
The coffee kept me sober amongst the intoxicated
too burdened with their own excesses, tasted of burnt
toast or a heart gone bitter. Strife seemed to be the act
of sitting there without a pair of warm hands to
tend the quiet, tame the unwanted duet of crickets
and invading smooch-sounds from that couple. Empty
cups remind drinkers of choices: how their chasm curates
your choice of tea or coffee, gets filled with the froth
of beer if you choose it. I scraped back my chair, left
the couple doubled over each other in love land, left
the sight of him re-tracing secret continents on the back
of her hand, left the neon presence soon dwindled
to absence.