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Fragmented souls
embark upon precarious journeys.
Mosey, so cozy, tip toes-ey amidst  
the nuts, the berries, her frag grenades,
all whom are lost.

I get the sense
she stimulates the local economy.
Her sixth sense
is my first sin;
subsequent Saturday night mass.
in her unique meek way.

She moves divergent
from the wandering.
Please,  I implore,
just as you sat
on the park bench
a failed attempt
at being inconspicuous.
tres de septiembre
covered in wet leaves
juggling espresso, laced
with my final exalted request-
roll up your sleeves.
chocolate skin illustrations
depict a sad story.
Don't stop smiling.
On the eve of our
improbable introduction
after impossible instructions.
Ignore the jilt,
it was a jolt,
prompted by your voltage.
Despite all your glory
I was over caffeinated,
under compensated,
out of cahoots,
deemed arbitrarily scholarly,  
presumed clinically copasetic;
according to the nurse tying a knot  
in Dr. Martens Boots.
I never trusted a stethoscope,
nor the script; it
read so cryptic.
"Dredge my flaws with his amphetamines"?
Societies newest drudge,
Earth's newest quagmire.

Theres nothing flat about her earth;
What's a man do with his hands?
there's nothing meek about me.
[Car door slams]
Arianna Nov 2018
Side by side in the rain, eyes
Rheumy with chronic insomnia,
Mouths senseless to the ashy tang
Of burnt espresso,
Watching the slow decay
Of waste, and Time,
And wasted time
Atom by
              ­    .
I'm just now discovering Emil Cioran and his ideas. We have some things in common, though, so I'd pick his mind over coffee. :-)

A brief intro to Cioran's philosophy:
For fifty cents
we bought ten eggs

For fifty cents
we bought a kilo of oranges

For fifty cents
we drunk espresso
in a coffee
across the street

For fifty cents,
at the flea market,
they were selling
at the car hub,
Jacque Prevert’s
- Charmes des Londres…

We bought that too

Jacques Prevert wrote “Charmes des Londres” in 1952.
*Grocery list for the market 15.02.2003.
Antino Art Feb 19
The smoke stacks that line the waterfront be like giant joints puffing thoughts of her into air embalmed by hundreds of rainy days
That slow burn, against the icy bay and the barges that carry their loads through them
This corner of the country gets six hours of daylight, tops
Greys seared by neon, smoke and clouds and fog produced as one
continuous substance
There's a pleasant blurryness here
floating amid the buoys and the docked ferryboats,
In the way the monorails glide above toward a 1960s dream of the space age through an Amazonian jungle of glass and cranes
in harmony with the clouds sailing overhead
Here is where you go to let off steam deferred, where you ride trains through a kind of dark that arrives early, stays up late
as shadows wander across the gum covered walls of Post Alley
lik ghosts made of espresso mist
freed from lit joints protruding from the skyline
to a high beneath starless heaven
Resting into the glow of that harbor
against thoughts of her that cloud the view of the sea.
Cunning Linguist Oct 2018
Your lips taste like regret,
& stale cigarettes
You make me fly through space
right up in
my rocketship

Its celestial,
so ponder this
Always stuck inside
your head and  *******br>While these memories,
they eat at me
four walls,
my only scenery

I drink just to not feel things
Or contemplate the dark and strange
Is this insanity?
Deranged, I'm glued to my seat
stuck on repeat
& lacking in mental clarity

Poor  D i c k  just lost his family;
Her heart, it hasn't skipped a beat
Its on her sleeve and honestly
I swear she'll be the death of me

I'll never show the pain that grows
but stow away these mental notes
til one day my mindscape's exposed,
& explodes
As my brains leak out my ears
most infinitely, no?

Yes I'm depresso I must confess oh
Double barrel shot in my espresso
Can't express though
I wear a mask so
You'll never know when I'm upset

Overlords, gimme simulation reset
Situations got me already
steady hot & heavy
Cos I be boiling in my skin

You see this boi is your kin
But a toy in the bin
For you to discard
When you find it most convenient

And I mean it;
Please disregard the "bars" I spit
I still think your aesthetic's lit
A succubus with fetishes
Of draining me, til nothings left

And after all the time I spent
Prolonging an inevitable end
I'll say the means were justified,
Even if it was really just pretend

I only hope its unreal
A living nightmare, u feel
Every waking moment, lonely
And you can't sleep at night
without choking

So button it
Just shut it  b i t c h
I care not for the words unsaid
in a casket's where I made my bed
One foot in the grave
and I'm better off dead
Diana Santiago Dec 2018
I hate your stupid face
Those squinty eyes, them closed lips
Your expression so emotionless
Flat and stagnant is what it drips

Those masculine eyebrows, your expansive hair
That skin void of blemishes and scars
Complexion of espresso dancing with milk
Leaving the beholder seeing stars

Empty of smiles and feelings
Your visage the definition of dry
I go seeking for some semblance of life
Through your dark mysterious eyes

So I hate your stupid face
For it is the one that leaves me breathless
Casting the root on my heart
Rendering me into a state of restless
Sweety Jan 19
Sun shined up on me even In rains, when you were with me..
Love songs by Taylor Swift were playing in the background when you talked to me..
Cool breeze from ocean was touching my shoulders, giving me the best goosebumps, when you walked beside me..
Espresso tasted like sweet maple syrup, when I shared it with you..
Name calling felt like eulogy, when those words came from you,
Wrath from whole world didn’t matter, when you Stood by me..
Life was beautiful when you were with me..
JK Casilda Dec 2018
Being away from home makes me able to do anything I want without my parents having a panic.
I mean they don’t know that every morning I have my cup of coffee despite being told I’m acidic.
Or that at least every week I go try different coffee shops and order an espresso with less milk.
Really? Am I a coffee addict?

I mean…

Who can say no to the aroma soothing your nostrils   and leave you
                                                                ­                 craving
There in your table sits your very own cup, waiting
to be kissed from its very seductive rim, parting
            your thrilled lips, burning
            your yearning tongue, providing
your soul the bittersweet taste of the coffee you love
And as you sip that blessed liquid
                           Like lightning it electrifies you over your taste buds
                                                                ­                              to your throat
             to your chest then back up switching on every nerve in your brain.
You bathe in that wonderful kick of caffeine.
And you just can’t help but close your eyes and enjoy this hot bath from a long cold rainy day.
Listening to the every chemical reaction
feeling that sublime sensation
now creeping into every part of your body
telling you
                     that you are no longer your own property.
Then you suddenly get reminded of the last time you had your coffee.                               The abnormal beating of your heart
the fireworks in your head
           the ringing in your ears
                       the whispers of voices from your back
thezjdflksjcxkdjfghdisquiet of the night and
            how it left you gasping for breath
   drowning in the sea of your tears of regret.
It’s frightening.
But being scared makes you hear your present heartbeat, slowly, rushing
like it’s 8 in the morning
You’re alive.
It’s beating. You survived.
You savor this forbidden sensation for as long as it lasts.
                                                          ­               But nothing lasts forever.
When it starts to wear off, of course,
               it all comes back to the tongue.
Here comes “The Finish”.
Funny how acidity
is the strong point of coffee
but a weak point of you.
Cold sweat runs through your back
and a sharp burning feeling starts in your stomach.
Your tongue                      touching the ceiling of your mouth
                  is now starting to burn an unpleasant, undesirable sharpness,
over-fermented bitterness.
The bittersweet becomes            just the bitter.
You open your mouth like puffing out cigarette smoke
breathe out               deeply and slowly
your tongue searching every corner of your mouth
trace the lining of your gums
for that elusive sweetness
that once filled you with     happiness.
In despair you’re left with nothing      but the bitter aftertaste.
Like a whistle of the kettle that tells you the water is boiling
The reminder that you had coffee.
For a moment you want to cry—why can’t you just cry—but if they tell you not to cry over spilled coffee then
         more reasons they’ll tell you not to cry from drinking coffee
Because who cries over coffee and why would you cry from drinking coffee?
You ask yourself
        left with two answers:
You’d cry because it’s bad,
           or you’d cry because you once had something so good.
See even the most natural task on Earth like drinking coffee gives difficult life choices, too.
But before you lose your mind thinking about
The aftertaste,
        your breath,
        your heart,
        the whistle,
        the bittersweet,
the bitter,
               the sweet,
  the aftertaste,    the bitter,
You feel the cup between your hands
            warm and welcoming.
A faint light from this darkness
has started to devour the blackness.
And you open your eyes.
You no longer hear the whistle of the kettle nor the rushed beat of your heart.
Even the bitter taste in your tongue felt like it’s been there right from the start
And you just no longer care of the aftertaste that takes ages to depart.
You look at your cup with your loving doe eyes.
You’re ready to take in another sip of your coffee
not minding the aftertaste                      of that same unrequited love.
This was originally performed as a spoken poetry, my first in that field.
We were the orange tree,
Amongst the green leaves.
We were the **** duckling,
In a pond full of white ducks.

We were bitter espresso,
In a cafe of caramel lattes.
We were the violin,
At an EDM concert.

We were different,
We were unique.
We were happily depressed,
In a world driven by happiness.

We were forever in love,
With an expiry date.
We were mentors of life,
When neither wanted to live.

We were always meant to die,
To become a better you and I.
We were always meant to be different,
When the world was looking for the same.

It would always be,
As it was intended to be.
A bittersweet good-bye,
Onto the next phase of life.
Stephanie May 20
a great way to start a day,
and a peaceful escape from a busy loads of work
sometimes in the night, I spent a sip
a really cozy taste of a brewed milky coffee!
'coz why not? ??
it makes everything back on its place (my mood for example hehe)
no one would notice that it smells like home
but I always do so whenever I recognize
an espresso or a latte, I close my eyes and smile
it is more than just a coffee, it is goodness in a cup!
1:45am and yes, I have a nice coffee for some company :>
Ceida Uilyc Sep 2018
I think you’re too sweet
because I like Espresso now.
10 Words
Two come in a pair
I think I'd wager both have your own legs
Even though sometimes the day
Fills ya both with rage
And you both have different
Ways you read the same page
One doesn't eat meat
And the other likes legs
Always on the go
Never on late
"I've got all my **** done"
While you still playin games
But that's okay, that's okay
You don't always bicker
And he just wants the liquor
When the boys are around
And she just wants
A quad shot espresso
Latte macchiato
Cause in the morning
Feels like the sun going down
Ammy Nov 2018
The sky was filled with cumulonimbus clouds as they threatened to give way any time. Looking out of the window, I let out a little sigh.

Picking up my cup of cappuccino, I sipped it while opening a new tab to my email inbox.

The clouds remind me of you.

I hope you’re doing fine.

Things have been different ever since you went away, but I’m still trying to adjust to the current situation.

I remembered how I had first met you when you came to the bar where I was working as a barista.

It was raining that day and the café had fewer customers as compared to usual days.

You came in with an expressionless face and chose to sit at the furthest end of the counter – away from most of the crowd.

Shivering a little, you made eye contact with me and called me over.

You ordered something on the café’s hidden menu – Espresso with a hint of milk.

That was when we first started conversing.

“May I have an espresso with a hint of milk?”

“I’m surprised.”


“This is your first time coming here, isn’t it? Yet you are aware of our hidden menu.”

“I’m more surprised by how you’d know it’s my first time here.”

I brought your order and you gave me a smile so bright it stunned me.

It was really different from when you first stepped into the café.

“I like it here.”

I returned a smile and went back to my job.

From then on, you came quite often.

I’m not sure if it’s because you liked the atmosphere in the café but I was indeed elated to see you make return trips here.

Slowly, we started to chat more often whenever you came over and found out more about each other.

I loved animals.

You didn’t really take a liking to them.

Both of us love the aroma of coffee beans.

I hated whipped cream.

You loved it.

I liked bright colours.

You liked the monochrome range.

Your parents were hardly home.

My parents were always home.

I had siblings.

You were an only child.

I trusted people easily.

You never did until you really know them.

I liked being in a crowd.

You preferred solitude.

I joked that it’s because you liked solitude which was why you chose this particular seat.

You grinned at me, not saying a word.

Yet I knew what you wanted to say.

That’s right, Bingo.

You’d only order Espresso with a hint of milk.

It was always the same.

When we had few customers, I’d just lean on the counter and talk to you, watch you sip your espresso gracefully and letting out a contended sigh.

“I love the espresso here.”

“But why do you want a hint of milk in it?”

“I wanted to cover up part of the bitterness.”

“That’s so weird.”

“But that’s how I like my espressos.”

“Hmmm~ I only drink cappuccino.”

“And you’re working as a barista in a café. That’s weirder.”

“No it isn’t!”

I guess it was your queerness that attracted me.

After a period of time, we got closer and closer to each other.

That was also when we started going out for meals whenever I had the day off.

We built an unbreakable bond over the years.

But we were forced to separate.

Neither of us had control over it.




Things just changed.

I was in too much shock to respond when I heard what happened to you.

I tried to deny things.

But it was impossible.

I’d never have you by my side ever again.

I have been trying to comfort myself ever since then, telling myself that you would still be somewhere out there.

Watching over me.

Protecting me.

I hope you’re doing fine.

Maybe I’d meet you some day.

If only Heaven accepted e-mails, I’d send you one everyday.

P.S. I really miss you.

P.P.S. A lot.
I had always hated thunderstorms when I was younger.  The thickness in the air combined with the way the clouds blocked out any light and, of course, the thunder.  They always made me feel uneasy, or even a little bit afraid.  They gave me brutal headaches, which my mother always reassured me was simply a side effect of the rise in air pressure, but I always associated the pain with the storm itself.  Thunderstorms gave me a sense of hopelessness, a sense that was I trapped and that there was nothing I could do about it.  At night, they kept me awake, huddled underneath a sheet, while I held onto a sliver of hope that the sun might rise and break through the clouds, and that the storm might end soon.

As I’ve grown older, however, I’ve learned to love thunderstorms.
They’re so familiar, and oddly enough, rather comforting.  The darkness has become something that I can hide behind, rather than something that was trapping me in.  The brutal headaches have become something that I can make disappear with a few extra shots of espresso, even though my mother always tells me to lighten up a little on the caffeine.  These storms have become something like the sheet I used to hide under when I was younger, something that almost protects me from the things that make me afraid.

I hide under the thunderstorms now.  They are my favorite part of summer.
Tori Mar 25
Its the resounding footstep in a hollow stair
The swift tapping of a keyboard at midnight
The the delicate ripple of far away laughter
The hum of a crowd that's subdued to a hush
The crunch of footsteps on a worn gravel path
And the crisp titter of birds in the morning air

Its the refreshing kiss of rain-washed walk
The warming embrace of oven-fresh bread
The melancholy notes of steamy espresso
The calm of an herbal tea held to the lip
The musk of an old book discovered anew
Its newly-cut cedar in a woodworkers shop

Its the movement of limbs to a lively tune
A welcome stomachache caused by a laugh
The firm, tender grasp of a loved-one's hand
Cascading warm water along bare skin
The cool of a breeze on the laborers brow
Its bear feet tripping through the grass in June

Its a leaf-eclipsed glimpse at the blue of the sky
The miscellaneous covers on a library-shelf
Sunset dipped clouds or'e a tree lined horizon
The dark of wet ink scrolling across a blank page
The vast dome of a galaxy untainted by light
Its the generous exchange of lover's keen eyes
larni Oct 2018
a milk chocolate man with yummy espresso eyes,
a goofy, crooked smile that never quits.
tight, soft curls pushed back in a black wave,
and a voice that floats on feathers
i'm in love ahh.

— The End —