What the Mug Still Holds

You left

before the tea

turned cold

I didn't notice

until

the silence

steamed up

the kitchen

Your mug

still waits

next to mine

Unwashed

untouched

undrunk

There’s a ring

of quiet

around it

A shadow

where your hand

should be

I keep brewing

two cups

every day

One for me

One

for the ghost

of routine

I sip mine

yours sits

unmoved

But I still pour

still place

still wait

Because somewhere

between

the steam

and the stillness

I pretend

you’re

just

running

late