You hands with their prominent veins
Move towards your mouth,
Your fingers are better used when painting a canvas
Than holding a cigarette.

Inhale,
Exhale.
Almost a ritual
For the seventh day of the week.

The Sunday hunt is on,
Change from behind the couch
And between its cushions
Collected to buy assorted coffee beans.

Cigarettes
Quarters
And coffee,
Another Sunday afternoon.

Sitting on the porch
Indulging in our fortune
With me, memorizing your features
Sculpting them into my mind.

You look away from me
I say your name
But you cover your mouth
With a coffee mug.

My hand touches yours
You hardly react,
So I take the gesture back
And head to the kitchen to start another *** of coffee.