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Junior McIntyre Jul 2019
There is a skill in the way she sips her coffee
Soaking in the essence of each bean destroyed for her pleasure
Internalizing the caffeine like a lovers embrace
Running her fingers through her hair in the morning light
Coffee is art and consuming it is seduction
Monisha Jul 2019
I seek coffee shops,
Quiet, hidden,
Tucked away,
Dark wood, mugs with fat lips,
Unobtrusive, corner seat,
Nothing forbidden.

Ah! The smell of the brew,
Nose tingles, Eyes closed,
Sublime fascination,
Moments to settle in and roots I grew.

A book opens or my laptop does,
Ambient sound soothes as a caressing touch.
My coffee arrives in its carriage comfortably so,
I reach out and pick it up,
All mine, nowhere to go.

Look around my wandering gaze,
Lost souls, finding their way,
With their thoughts through the haze.
What do I do,
I watch them wafting and waning with their thoughts,
Some with others yet alone,
Some alone, yet not lone.

Coffee companion, friend,love,
Subliminal cold or hot,
And without a word exchanged,
A clan, a tribe,
Community found.

What’s your brew,
Dark and strong
Or golden hued
Or perhaps pure white,
A dash of brown to bring to light,
Night or day,
Coffee in the shop,
Is my magic hop.
Sabila Siddiqui Oct 2018
Your language is empathy
Your power is vehemence.
You have a searing pursuit of understanding
and the ability arouse curiosity.

Conversing with you is like
naming stars,
creating constellation with them
It is observing the intricacy, profundity and complexity of this world;
Delving deeper into the ocean
and a black hole of unexplored matter
as you paint extravagant pictures with words.

You made me feel heard
the days I was mute
the days I was invisible.

Thank you for asking me what I thought,
for making me feel it mattered.
Thank you for reaching out,
when I needed it the most.
Thank you for inspiring me
to be vocal about my thoughts and passions.
Thank you for being an integral
part of the person I am today.
Thank you for brewing the oceanic-galactic tea.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
Looking at pictures
Running water heals my soul
Tea's brewing away
Listen to running water as you work!
Green tea's a brewin'
Lyn ***
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
While the bread rises,
I grab my loose leaf green tea
Brew to my delight
Green tea, especially!
Lyn ***
Seanathon May 2017
Let the wind and rain on this dreary day refresh your mind, and seep into this, the very corners of your soul. That way we can drink in the storm together. Instead of our midweek coffee, hot, we'll brew this Friday morning cold, and sip until the weekend appears. Polite and unfolding, as the packet of paper and its peers, for the cream is sweet enough for the cold brew itself. And so I ask of you. Would you drink in a metaphor or two with me, just for a break? In order to take away, from the truth of day which has yet to grow but an hour old. Let the wind and rain suppress all thought, as we sit beside, in the room of old. Breaking, waiting for the will-less voice which always seems to sleer and say...get back to work you sleepy, seeping, sipping souls. Take your supposed spice coffee calling called cold brew and go.
From a windows. Shockingly enough.
Wordsinalign Apr 2017
Pungent coffee stains with the magnificent for company,
I spill a drop in a background of shiny metals creating an orchestral symphony.
Sitting in the boulevard I chase words into poetry,
Alongside the parades of chaos singing a different symmetry.
I write of sunsets, birds, kisses and seas,
I even write about branches on broken trees;
Of tales where the hero is the villain,
and those who felt pain in dol multipled them a trillion.
Of lonesome characters that wrote letters of love,
they even defied their gods above.

It was his eyes that made me drink black coffee,
no sugar, no cream, not even toffee.
Deep, dark and bitter was the way he was;
I even went to ‘Home Bakery’ just because.
Decoctions of coffee comforted my freezing moments,
heartbreak came to me in brief installments.
Like most of my men with no names,
my heart burned without any flames.

I love him like I love my coffee,
and you must believe me when I say
I will perish like the aroma of the first brew.
Seanathon Jan 2017
From brews, to baseball, to the Caesar salads we both like to eat

You were the potential just out of reach
The distant hope, the fear internalized
The not knowing when, or how, or if, we would ever meet

For once, for real, instead of on screens
Like the reflections in my galleries
I see you now in photos with him
Seeing both what is and could’ve been

Yet there you are by your father's side
Striding down the aisle inside, of another man’s church
Another man’s mind    

I just hope that he loves baseball like me
And that he can paint the corners outside
Almost perfectly, just like a Rembrandt

Though I missed you this time by a single stride
I never felt like the game began
Because we both looked down that distant road
And you, glanced back, at a map inscribed

On that, with this, I bid you goodbye, and wish you well until the 9th
Best wishes. In earnest.
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