Love's Many Vessels
The first time I ever made you coffee I
handed it to you, black and just a little burnt.
with apology on my tongue, I said ‘sorry, there’s no cream.’
You, with your long black hair and snow
driven smile replied, with reassurance on your lips,
‘it’s perfect, I prefer it black’
It’s been 6 months, sweet love, and I watched you
making coffee with your short black hair
and the sun shone bright against the cold,
snow driven cream as it slipped into your mug.
And in this moment I am struck by
love’s elasticity. I held your love in a
2 liter carafe, the black coffee steaming.
Yet in an instant you seamlessly hug
the corners of the square cardboard carton
of half and half and I tuck it away in the fridge
door for safe keeping.
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