March 28, 2016

The moon in her coffee. The stars in her sighs.

I'm (obviously) not much of a photographer. When I first attempted to take the picture this morning, I shot a video by accident. ("In a world where a woman hasn't had enough java...") That's what happens when you attempt to use devices before caffeine. (Or, at least, when I do.)

But the image—if it were clearer—would be of the moon surrounded by a handful of stars. Which made me think...

The moon in her coffee.
The stars in the sky.
Another sip.
Another trip.
She closes her eyes.

The moon in her body.
The stars in her sighs.
The darkness around her.
The shadows. The cries.

He holds her hips firmly.
Their lust is the prize.

Actually, I was not trying to write a sexy poem. I was trying to write a coffee poem. You see, coffee is a major plot point in one of the projects I'm working on now. (One of how many? Sixteen? Twenty?) I am juggling, as ever. But embracing the chaos, which is the best I can do.

Coffee is truly my last vice. (That's my last coffee on the wall... looking as if...) More on my new project soon. Until then, here's another of my odes.


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