water was showering over me
warm steam with coffee scented molecules
quenching the dry air.
a thought was in my mind:
porcelain can’t hold coffee grounds.
something nice would be fresher air
as fresh as frenchly pressed coffee.
so, in my thoughts, i dripped on the rug
and made footprints over to cup one
(it was wasting heat, losing steam)
so i used the momentum
of its northward-traveling aroma.
an air freshener was made
(as i turned the cup in my hand)
to a catapult of filtered black sand
no grounds to spill, but coffee’s scent
poured through the air as it went.
lifted level, tipped right askew,
my nostrils flared as coffee flew.
the air freshener that was thought
occupied a braid of air,
perfect aroma.
then liquid’s caught.
gathered by carpet, furniture and clothes,
coffee no longer kissing my nose.
my eyes open,
the warm steam is still around.
thoughts no longer on coffee grounds,
but rather the soap in my hair
and on warm cup one
still waiting there.