Zeinab's cafe

there's a cafe on the coner
of our long and empty street
it faces the stormy sea
as angry waves spew foam against the sullen rocks

she laughs at his humour
and listens to his tales of travelling
he grounds his cigarette into the
porcelain orange ash tray

the four o'clock sun
streams through the dirty windows
the white paint is chipped and peeling off the wooden wall
there's a crack in the top left window

she watches his eyes
as they move through the room
she sips at her cappuccino
and adds a spoon of sugar

inside red lanterns hang
from the dark brown wooden ceiling
they reflect a poor light
on the tables and leather booths

he mocks the romantic music
she smiles as she hears
the heated argument
of two loves in the booth behind them

the smell of coffee swirls through the half empty room
as the waiter wipes his brow
and charges bravely towards the chatting customers

he makes her feel so beautiful
even though she knows her hair's a mess
and her mascara's smudged
from her now dry tears

the sun shines in their eyes
outside seagulls glide in the air
a lonely figure struggles in his coat
but inside they're warm

it's only here where she feels young again
where their worlds stay behind with their coats at the door
in front of her is the boy of nineteen
that she once loved
and now the memory of him
safe in the cafe on the corner
brings her love back again