i miss the way
coffee used to taste

i used to take the dregs
at the end of the morning
pot and pour them into a
steel tumbler

mix in handfuls of
refined white sugar
to fight the bitter
flavor i had not yet
learned to accept

then it went into a large
glass receptacle with
terminally stained
interior corners

mixed with milk until
pale and creamy
left to sit in the fridge
for a week

drunk from shimmering
crystalline glasses at
any hour of day or night
because consequences
didn't matter to me

my summer coffee tastes
different now
not so watered down
and drunk early
from plastic cups
through straws that crack

just because
it's there, not
because i took
the time to make it

and i miss something a lot deeper
than the way my coffee used to taste
but i cannot for the life of me
remember what it is

They Mourn.
Dressed in night:
They carry
Through paper thin doors.
They cross
A threshold into the unknown.
They mourn
The loss of self.

And in the morning
They wake
Anew, with a fragrant scent
They penetrate;
Morning coffee, the spaces within
They wake
From mourning.
They wake
Renewed;
They wake
Anew;
They wake for you.

M•(e). Díaz

it's snowing in april and
the bluejays have abandoned their nest to
welcome the newcoming of spring;
we have no furniture, sweetheart,
but we do have time. last night i
held your cheek in my tiny palm and
asked if you wanted me to rest
in your arms forever -
"of course", you soothed,
and i brewed cherry coffee in the morningtime
to remind myself
that this life is good.
we have no money, sweetheart,
but we do have time. we do have time.

I miss the taste of your lips
With every sip of coffee

I miss the fragrance of your body
With every breath, I breathe

I miss the good old days
With every sleepless night, I survive

Oh, my beautiful nightmare!
Oh, my darling,
Let me love you
Till my fingertips memorize you.