Coffee Cups

Once I sought
the bitter coffee cup
the baristas
sell at breakfast
where my eyes are reflected
in the warm blackness
like a bitter soul.
Once I’ve taken in
the megabytes of my surroundings
I close my eyes
and looked into the void
as it fills my tongue
with warmth and life.
Is it the same as this
instant dose of caffeine,
prepared and manufactured
by the crafted machines
of the cold earth,
a brownness filled with
powdered sweetness
and cheap foam like the ones
that they say
trail the evening void
with life?

My tongue burnt its presence
and hid from the
soul my body craved.

It can be any soul
as long as it can fill the void
and lighten a busy day.

Poem No. 6 for this week’s poetry theme, “on summer I toil, on summer, I dream.”


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