Clouds In My Coffee
The Poets Woman
By
Jude Kyrie*

She looked at him devotedly
already he was writing.
Or had he been there all night?
She read his poem
over his shoulder.
She loved it, so beautiful
like a painting in words .

She lifted a lock of his hair
away from his tired eyes.
More as a sign
that he still belonged to her.
Perhaps a statement
of her undying love.

His cup of coffee untouched
now cold and cloudy.
A cigarette burned into
a line of ash in the tray

Did you like it my love?
he whispered almost a plea
of her affirmation.

It is beautiful darling
it comes from
within your beautiful heart.
It flows like fresh coffee
smooth like black gold.