By: Debleena Majumdar

Drenched, soaking,
I enter the café,
My pocket empty of notes.

“A grande latte,
Make that a large”
“Cash or card?”
“A poem, actually.”
“I’ll pay with a poem”
She stares at me,
I need that coffee. I start,
My poem song.

At the corner table,
He sits alone.
I watch him,
Watch the rain.
The notes dance,
The notes fly,
A smile stains his eyes,
The coffee is still warm.

Drenched, soaking,
I leave the café,
My heart filled with the right notes.