So here is a poem I wrote about a man my mother told me about who had actually bought the wedding ring before ever finding a woman he loved. So I found him intriguing as I often find people that I don't understand and I decided to bring him to life in my own way.

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There is a frost on the window,

shifting down the glass as time ticks past

and it is ever present barely falling below

the table that the checked cloth masked.

There is a man in the corner,

rolling a ring between pale, thin fingers

and he is watching me as I start the burner

and I wonder why he lingers.

“I’m getting married,” he says, a blissful sigh

under his heavy breath

and I’m more than willing to offer a congratulation to bide

my time as his black eyes turn cold as death.

There is snow on the window,

sliding over a haze of ice as he whispers,

“But my ring is a size so unknown,

just a size six,” and he shows me a set of his and hers.

There sit two gold rings,

tilting one over the other as he draws them closer

to stare as he mumbles, “I keep searching

for a girl to fit my ring, for my long lost lover.”

A single bead of water drops from the thick ice,

breaking into brilliant crystals as she passes,

opening the front door and situating her glasses.

He looks to me, a fatal smile

dancing across his face and he seems to debate

and finally he says, “I have not seen a beauty like this in a while,

perhaps today brings me a mate,

a woman for my ring.”

There sits a man in the corner,

rolling a ring between pale, thin fingers

and he is watching her as I take his order

and I wonder why she lingers

with a gold ring on her finger.