Black Coffee

flowers in the ceramic vase
cat hair clinging onto the chair’s cushion
unused candle stands rusted
and the lovely smell of morning
that arrived only a few minutes
after we fell asleep
the stains of roadside food on your sweatshirt
the roughness of winter in your hair
coarse palms, a call of the newspaper boy

moving your head away, distanced
by this room and that
i walk into your house
discovering things about you, like
reading a story book
a kitchen full of half done things
straining an old brew of pressed coffee
i watch the pigeons come to the door
where you touched my face for the first time


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s