If suddenly someone were to rush up to you

And say "Hey, I know your face."

Would you shy away or embrace your past

With arms spread-eagled and a cup of coffee?

It gets lonely here in the letter-bin

Dark and smelly at times,

But mostly

Lonely

Bordering on insanity

A pinch of salt

A chance of rain

A deck of cards

A cigarette

But nothing more.

Unless, dear me,

But-of-course!

Arms are spread-eagled, coffees are shared

In cups that are destined to empty,

(Fill with ash, perhaps, if the night draws long

And old habits are resurrected).

Unless bottles are popped, a whole lot else

Champagne is served, sir, until further notice

You may now blow your cosmic bubbles and screw the cat.

(She's contemplating never coming back again).

But when the ice shoots out

Like frozen mushrooms

And the tin roof becomes more than just hot,

When colours bleed into one another

And cocoa is strewn in angry puddles,

You know the cat's gone without being screwed.

- Taimur Malik (from, hub)