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Especially Sweet and Cold
Dark, black, midnight in my cup.
Cream is light, especially sweet.
Hot, warm, rekindle Winter’s mug.
Bitter chill, biting, nipping at heels.
“Baby it’s cold outside” teeny trees.
Tenderness handled in warm grip.
The pour fell into the cold-temp cup.
Warmth filled every space, then
my lips, my tongue, inside cheeks;
fills cherry mountains below eyes.
A caffeinated prescript aft’ “ahh,”
and Boston brown “molasses” bread.
America’s on a limousine roll
with presidential flags waving.
Transfer of power, balancing -
perhaps we can all be friends, again.
Copyright ©
Kim Rodrigues
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