Brad Smith (jesus_h_biscuit) wrote,
Brad Smith

Morning Coffee

Almost sweltering dead air pushed by fan blades whirring overhead
Hazy, languid clouds of steam
Milky gray and stirring
Enrobed in the sweat of cast off grounds

One hundred year old hardwood moans
Complaining underfoot endlessly
Enduring the weight of those queued for a morning fix
In the breadth of these walls singing

I brighten with sugar
Cream plays against the currents
A watery flamenco dancer turning my cup tan
Moves like stretched silk over my tongue
Tags: poetry

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