Between Two Cups

She stirs her coffee slow, avoiding my eyes,

the clink of porcelain loud enough to break the hush.

Empty space where a life was almost there,

a weight in the room I cannot lift.

The chair creaks under her quiet grief,

a silence stretched like thin, cracked glass.

Words hover like smoke, unspoken,

drift away before they find the air.

I reach but stop—there’s nothing to hold,

just two cups, one untouched, cold,

and the empty space between us,

thick enough to drown in.