so I noticed that we both drink coffee.
just like anyone, we both like ours a certain way.
i like mine sweeter, with just the aftertaste of coffee there.
caramel, sugar, creamer.
i think about when i’ll have my next cup, and the idea of it alone makes me happy.
i don’t care what time of day i have it, i almost always have a cup.
i make time for my coffee.
it might be safe to say i think you like your coffee black.
you might add just the smallest touch to soften its bitter taste, but never too much.
sometimes i think you just pour it and carry on, as though it’s nothing important at all.
as though all it is, is just some quick fix.
like you just want to get it over with.
we drink it in two different ways.
i drink it slowly.
i note every flavor in every sip, i enjoy it.
i note the warmth it brings me.
i like it all hours of the day.
you drink it quickly.
quicker than me, at least.
you don’t care if it burns your tongue, or perhaps you’re used to the pain.
you accept it.
you never let it last, you move on to something else soon after.
i lay in your bed, watching your eyes as they skim the screen in front of you.
your mind is somewhere else.
i savor the moments you look my way, if even for a second, and smile at me.
i wonder if you even notice them.
i feel your laugh vibrate my bones, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
do i make you feel at all?
i reflect on it every time i drink my coffee.
i think about it with each and every sip, taking my time.
something tells me that you don’t do the same.
after all, it's just coffee.
but i put my all into this coffee.
i think you like your coffee black.

I like coffee
And You like tea
I love the silence
You like to scream
-Coffee and tea
Go perfectly-
Why oh why dont you see?

I like mornings
You like eve's
And I love the sunrise
Till late you sleep
-Mornings and eve's
Together it is-
Why oh why dont you agree?

You and me
Were ment to be
Happy ever afterly.

There is poetry
in nature.
The way you
breath is poetry.
Meandering of the
river is poetry.
There's poetry
in rainfall.
The songs of
the wind is poetry.
The harsh anger
of the cyclone
is poetry.
There's poetry in
a child's laughter.
The piecing eyes
and the toothless
grin of a
child and the
elderly is poetry.
Poetry is written
everywhere,
even in glistering
star in the
galaxy.
Beauty is poetry,
and the ugliness
of discarded things
are poetry too.
There's poetry
hidden everywhere
you look.
The art of
cooking is poetry.
The heart expresses
itself in poetry.
Love is poetry.
Life itself is
poetry written in
the sand of time.
There's poetry
everywhere and in
everything,
if only you
can look.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

I'm such a mess
I must confess
I spilled the cherries
On my dress
Poured everywhere
So crimson red
And sickly sweet
Splashed on my arms
Down to my knees
What can I do
It's drowning me
Oh help me please;

Wait nevermind
It's kind of nice
Maybe I'll stay
I'm sure it's fine
I shouldn't whine
These times are mine
My dress might stain
But the pain will fade
This memory
Won't be so grey
I'm sure, someday
I'll softly think
"It's been a while"
So for now
I'll sink

She is a poem of his heart
He never disclosed
In front of anyone.

i cannot wait for the day
i look at you
or say your name
or even see your picture
and feel absolutely
n o t h i n g