I am a coffee mug,
Earthy, clayey, rotund and pouty.

I feel loved, embraced and wanted by you most times, other times I wonder.

I would rather be in your hands, kissing your lips and at least by your side in the outdoors or by the soft yellow light by your bedside where you linger with me and the brew lost in your thoughts or a beautiful book.

I live in harmony with your favourite blue wooden tray- my carriage, the small silver spoon- to stir up a storm and create music in me, and that cane worn out coaster that fits my round ample bottoms  so well.

I dream of holding magical coffee brews from lands close and far, dark.
Robust, wholesome that would make you moan in delight.

I sometimes dread that you read too much in wellness and what if you get influenced to drink less of coffee and fill me up with some detox potion, oh I worry about that so!

I am so majestic, grand and covetable and you love me so, so many options you have,
but to me is always where you go.

I stay awake humming while you sleep, in the morning I pour love into my crevices to welcome the brew just right for you.

The best thing I have done is to never give up on you but I just reciprocate what you do too💕

I sometimes carried brews so yucky for  you,
Despite your love, I feel guilty of needing constant validation from you.

My favourite time is bringing in the dawn together with you or watching the rain while you lovingly caress me watching the pitter patter of  raindrops on your windowsill.

The point of my life is to spread joy and give lovingly and empty myself for you.

I would like to be remembered as your forever favourite, giving, loving, being held till my last crack and then you make me into art to lie by your bedside  as your favourite coaster to welcome the new one
but I will be your forever one☕️

Down at Mary Lou's,
There's a Venezuelan *****,
I'd have married her at 16
If we were south of Mason Dixon,
She's as sweet as cotton candy
She's a Venezuelan fox,
She has all the right ingredients
To be unorthodox.

Down at Mary Lou's
There's a Venezuelan momma,
She looks hotter than Hell
And knows nothing of Obama,
She has a way with coffee beans
A special way to grind,
The brew so stimulating
Oh baby; What a find!

Down at Mary Lou's
There's a Venezuelan beauty,
She blends outstanding coffee
And she really is a cutie,
Whenever I stop by
I feel her Venezuelan heat,
I get an overwhelming urge
Just to have a bite to eat.

Down at Mary Lou's
There's a Venezuelan girl,
She makes the finest Latte'
With a little mocha curl,
Her steam is hyper-pressured
Milk frothing to a frenzy,
I think I'll wait outside for her
To perform an apprehenzie.

Down at Mary Lou's
There's a Venezuelan dame,
She prepares an awesome beverage
While I play a little game,
It’s called watch the Coffee Maid
Tamp the grounds and make some steam,
Oh, this Venezuelan Coffee chick
Is an old man’s sweetest dream.

There's a Venezuelan princess
Down at Mary Lou's,
If I had done the hiring
She's the one I'd choose,
Her charisma is intoxicating
Her aromas even more so,
And when she wears that skimpy T - shirt
I'm just nuts about her torso.

Down at Mary Lou's
Things are heating up,
I keep dropping in for coffee
At three bucks a cup,
And while I'm on the subject
Regarding a Venezuelan Barista,
If she isn't available.........
Might she have a sista'?

A vacation too short
But the views were **** good,
Thanks to a Venezuelan beauty
Preparing coffee as one should,
I'll return again a year from now
And stop at Mary Lou's,
Will the Coffee chick come back again?
If not I'll sing the blues.

while brewing the coffee grounds and enjoying the aroma it brings
I decided to get a cup of warm milk and add it to my glass
it seems funny because nowadays
I prefer having a strong black coffee
to be with me as I do my pile of tasks
but today I choose not to make my coffee black
maybe because I want to try something new
or maybe because today I choose to be kinder to me and you

the big easy
is hard lives,
what gives

this rainy city
so sublime,
it's almost a pity

that streets are lined with ****
pests and rats in the alleyways
how did things get so ******

or have they always been?

overpasses with people
lying underneath

so many homeless
it staggers the mind to think

bread bags and coffees
floating in the wake of the ferries

outnumbering 10 to 1
the loads that they carry

all the old growth
coming down

all the gold of their headpieces
tinfoil hats fashioned from crowns

no jazz or blues can save them
from the fate that waits

an engraving reading,
here lies what once was a haven

Our fires clash, the sources worlds apart.
My mind is still, my heart beats fleeting.
And I ask myself why, or how strangers of two ends up finding themselves reaping
for the air the other breathes, and the other one’s heart.

But soon our worlds meet, and I feel myself clashing.
I think of you as bright as the embers that burn hot like the sun,
or how it feels to have your first taste of ***;
A slow-burn that inks the back of your throat, that leaves you asking for more, as the mind begins cracking.

We went out for coffee —
Funny enough, we both liked it plain.
We talked about our lives, and soon, I thought us insane.
For we laughed all day, until the sun went away.
“Until another day,” You say.
But we were inpatient, it had barely been 3 days
Before you asked me out for coffee in another café.


No longer did it take for me to be your captive,
And If you ask me to love,
I say, “I will.”
For I’ll give you all my love, my soul, my heart.
Only if you ask, my dear.

Half asleep feet shuffle in aimlessly;
Water fills the celestial coffeepot.
Chocolate brown grounds by a spoon are allot.
A spoonful spills to the floor! This marks its tragedy.
Another, another, so painfully,
This tragedy would make any distraught.
How can sleep be torn from eyes so bloodshot
Without the black elixir so holy?

The sleepy feet walk through the garage door,
Each brooms' handle is long like cold harpoons.
It sweeps up the wasted dreams on the floor.
"I measured out my life in coffee spoons."1
The tedious toil begins once more,
And so go the morning coffee mistunes.


1 - From "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot

Nothing like a cup of coffee to open my eyes
Watching the early sunrise
Hearing the annoying bird cries
Silently watching the blue skies
Dark, black and deep
Slowly pulling me away from sleep
In my throat, I let the hot liquid seep
Hearing the coffee machine go 'beep'
I wait for my energy to take a leap
So I can stop counting sheep
~27/4/21