Surface Tension

This town is full of misters
We scrawl our names on the
wrong side of frosty glasses
Season cycles of perspiration
Evaporated watermarks
recorded on my sleeve

Yeah, we're out again
Regular regulars
Your breath fogs my pane of thoughts
from across the table
I write backwards so you can read them

I must be so ugly
With my rash of condensation
Braille in beads of sweat say nothing
To this special brand of blind
I can only watch them convene
From the window I'm behind
I can only hope
So hard
That they stop falling apart
That they form a drop on
The forehead of your ocean
From where they'd like to start