Cold Coffee
Posted on April 28th, 2006 by Shewolf
no steam left to curl against him
touch its feather tips to his chest
move up against his chin
to trace the lips like lover’s crest
this air caves in, heavier, still
it presses pain and grinds
the very act of wrestling will
of scorched hearts and minds
if I had a mouthful of care
for what he brought to this
I would kiss away my share
leave him vibrating in what he’d miss
how often he brought me to his lips
coffee skin flat against the bed
a sad folding of canvas on fine ships
blackened dreams sunken in my head
that I should concern myself at all
to turn to see his bitter aftertaste
is somehow empowering; this fatal fall,
the very scum of our waste.
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