you’re my cup of coffee at 6:45 AM
smell dancing like incense in the middle of pooja
warm as the sun peaking out shyly behind the horizon
richly sweet caramelized sugar pearly cream
and bitter like the small things i dont know about you yet.

but when you touch my lips
the bitterness i can swallow with the sweet
and the sweet i savor with every taste bud on my tongue.

before i head out the door at 7 AM
i kiss your forehead and wash out the emptied mug
but the taste of cappucino lingers at the corners of my mouth
as i wave good day to you.

and when i return at 5:30 PM
limbs pathetically sown on with prayers
empty rivers landfills of worry time ticking like a heartbeat
the aroma wafts around me again like a scarf.

in your embrace
i fall asleep with dreams of whipped clouds and
love at the cafe.

If you are absurd
And you love it,
Then you would probably
Love this tale as well.

I love to be in the nostalgia
Of the bitter and blatant;
No cream, no milk,
Just the black swirls and whirls with rivulets of tears.

And postcards were scarce
And you play Ella Fitzgerald
And drink seven cups a day,
And no, honey, it’s totally fine.

Delve and dive in the nightmares
Of the past and the disgusting cheap latte,
And add tears instead of brown sugar;
It’s the best coffee you’ll ever have at two in the morning.

You warmth slips past my eager lips as I take you in,
Your fall spice tickles my senses as I sigh, falling into the joy of our annual ceremony.

I am not alone in my adoration of you, but I do not grow jealous as others call your name,
Rather I find a sort of community in our shared appreciation,
Like a perfect song you were meant for the world, not one,
Yet each of us singular in the definition of our experience with you.

And so I wet my lips, again tasting the hint of a memory of your last kiss,  I prepare to brave that soft beacon hill of whipped cream topped with a seasoning so familiar yet unknown.