Cup after cup.

From the bottom of a well
lined with discarded mugs from
memorabilia shops
I strain my eyes
and through my tangled eyelashes
I fight for vision between sun rays.

The world might always smell like
coffee gone cold.

Atop oil stained concrete
A fast food employee
Wears a headset
Takes out the trash

And god is an eloquent *****
She paints freckles on his face
A cigarette in his hand

It's just that your eyelashes
catch the wind and shadows
across your face.

And I can't help
but to think to myself
that God gave us cheek bones
so we may lay across this field
and I could look up to you
through the sunlight.