Convenience Store Coffee
Smell of ashes
the taste of burnt toast,
complexion’s dark
as crows yet
a familiar scent
that lingers
in every empty
mug.
Cold weather
is my body’s ditzy
enemy.
Coats, scarves,
and others embrace never
suffices, yet I still cover
up just to concede
a frivolous
anxiety buried
in my skin.
Frosty compassion
leads a search for dire
need of temptation
within unkempt warmth
of liquid lush brewing
anew into a cup of
addiction.
Bitter is sweet,
sweet is bitter.
Its nature
so capricious meddling
from hate to love,
from love to heart-
ache, from heart-
ache to anger,
from anger to
loss.
Coffee’s taste
attached to every
memory, not once
absent,
a friend, my desire,
$2.49 a cup of cheap
watery indulgence
draws me back
more and more.
My loyal comfort,
as I take a sip,
I indulge
endlessly
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