Colors In A Coffee House
Double time hits for the ceiling —
The clouds of white smoke, the healing
Childhood in my skin finally relaxes
Everyone around me in lapses
Coffee forms the swollen cheeks
With history's pick of bean
Water remembers
Water pushed under embers
The percolator
Like some wound drips her.
Eyes on the preppy barista —
Maybe we both see in similar vistas
She writes down my choice of expresso's dark
God, if ~her youth~ could start my heart.
A cup with fingers locked for style,
The young woman plays in the mud awhile.
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