Even the Syrup

Untitled

I poured syrup over pancakes this morning,
and I watched it drip in small circles,
each droplet first a sphere and then a circle on the plate,
so I would not have to look up to see that you weren't there.
You weren't at the table,
I had travelled here without you,
and even the syrup was lonelier in its circles
without you there to see it.
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