Coffee on my spoon
by LunarBlue
(513 views) - 6/15/05
(recorded 6/15/05 @ 6:21:36 PM)
After smuggling half the world's known supply of coffee, heating 12 ounces of water by rubbing two sticks together until some desperately needed spark was born, I now sit entranced by the melody of the vapor emanating from my olive stenciled mug.
The pattern on my spoon is inviting and therapeutic, I watch the remnants of the grim ooze dreamily from the edge of my seat as the mass ambles along into the well not too far from the center of the narrowed tip of the metallic vessel, such a thick nearly vitriolic liquid, I fear it's combustion but stare blissfully, longing to savor it's flowering image, solidifying like gentle-bitter caramel, I must consume this.
Bitter-sweet-bitter, a slight taunting aftertaste encouraging another encounter.
Drip.
A wasted jewel, brown falls onto my lap.
A perfect day well ended after being lost in a tumble of glasses and pages and blankets. No fragrance, nor song, nor heavenly touch could rouse me today; I'm lost in the velvet embrace of endless pages. I master the solitude of this existence, finding purpose in half a handful of friends and the escape of desperate romances.
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