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a clay coloured mug
with the dregs
of now-cold coffee
swirling with bits
accumulated dust
and a fallen fly
left on the side
it needs to be washed
but will be ignored
time and again
each time i pass by
because of how
it is stained;
not by the rings
lining it's inner surface
from top to bottom
with striations of brown
but because of
the lipstick smudge
on its outer edge
a sign of her presence
of all the memories
that a smear of red
can conjure
and a reminder
that she will
be home soon
i dreamt about us —
a forbidden touch,
where hands met,
souls intertwined,
shirts unbuttoned,
drunk on wine.

i dreamt of the slowest burn —
sparks from your lips
merging with fuel from mine
tilting my entire world
upside down.

‘did you sleep well?’ you ask,
stirring your morning coffee.
i smile, face flushed with heat.
‘i had such an angelic dream.’
this one is about a housemate. the dream spoke for me — in the morning, I almost let it.
June 26, 2025
Cadmus Jun 22
☕️

A man keeps to himself
most of his:
disappointments,
sorrow,
despair,
bitterness,
and his tragedies.

Then one day, he explodes,
If his coffee cup slips from his hand.

☕️
It’s rarely the last thing that breaks us.
It’s everything that came before it.
Damocles Jun 18
I crave you like serotonin,
Breathe in your pungent, intoxicating scent,
As it fills my senses, leaving me breathless and yearning.

My stomach churns, signaling the onset of desire,
Your absence feels like the neglect of a lover,
And I implore you with outstretched arms,
To embrace me once more.

I need you like blood,
Circulating through my veins,
Pumping an endless stream of energy,
A source of focus for a lion hunting.
I yield my strength to surrender with weakness,
To know you, to touch you.

I find you in fine ground, brown, powder,
Nestled at the base of a round, cylindrical container with mesh windows,
Covered by a closed dome roof with a small hole for puncturing,
I place you in the harvester’s hole.

I place a kilned clay rain holder under the dripping swell,
When I press the blue button,
I unleash you like a monster,
And I become the hunter.

The blackish-auburn rivers flow hotter than the summer sun,
Dispelling into the ceramic,
The aroma ensnares me,
Overwhelming me with emotional attachment,
With impatient tapping on the flat marble.

Each last drop of you,
Shockwaves of adrenaline,
Shooting down my spine and back to my brain,
I grasp the thermos,
Add the Arctic soldiers,
As I pour you into the field of one,
Undone, but cooling your temperament,
I add the oat milk, diluting your melanin,
Revolutionizing the way color works when you beg me to stay.

Caramel sweeties,
Tangled in your bitter,
Swirling into a harmonious mixture,
Tasteful, perfect, *******,
I am forever yours,
In life and beyond,
My truest lover.

Iced Coffee.
Sincerely, if Iced Coffee were an antimate object I'd give it all up to be its servant.
Bekah Halle Jun 15
The coffee dripped
Into my mouth,
little droplets of life;
The rich, dark roast
Layered my tongue
Like velvet;
So sensual —
I could wrap it around my shoulders like
Helen’s, my Nan, foxy-red fur coat,
From the 1920’s and 30’s,
I am back there with her now —
With each drip,
And the zoot, zoot, zip
Of the trumpet
Bleating out
As dancers flapped about.
The bitter taste of morning brew
delights my weary heart;
it sparks in me the rising sun.
Coffee, we cannot part!
Anais Vionet Jun 8
We move through the night,
though the streets seem empty,
we look left and right,
electric vehicles are stealthy.

As we exercise stepwise, sunrise happens.
and black night fades its cover.
Like phoresy, painted, pieces of heaven,
the day opens with primary colors—
reds that delight, oranges that tease
and peacocking yellows that leaven.

As the counterfeit rainbow enchants and rouses,
streetlights waver and douse,
lights flicker on in houses,
and the earth blossoms active in borrowed hues.

Morning twinkles with its particular, angular light,
as we enter the still still lobby.
They’ve already set out the coffee!
With a sip, I feel the morning's started right.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Our Day Will Come by Amy Winehouse
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