Mysticism in my coffee


Spoon of sugar, heavy roast brew,

Space of stomach, thoughts of you-

cast the water upon your hurt-

Worship all this world has wrought.


In destruction, we bowed our heads-

I prayed to God (you wished Him dead)-

I spoke of love, between small sips-

You swore of chaos, between chapped lips.

If I could paint, I’d paint a bruise,

The world is bleeding with mes and yous.

The world lays wonders at our feet,

Yet conditions us to expect defeat.


I believe in souls- I believe in you,

Still, I see the holes, and the grief they brew.

Though I’ve mixed the faith into my skin,

I still challenge Him that lets the Evil in.


And over coffee, I attempt to free

The shackled morning of our fear.

The burnt red leaves of our front tree,

hang still and silent in the crisp air-

you’re off to work soon- I pour you tea.

I wish I had it in me to heal-

though the thing about pain, is that it’s so damn strong,

and so damn confident, and so damn real.


despite our questions that align,

and all the answers we never find,

(I chose the coffee, you chose the tea,

I chose to stay, you chose to flee)…

despite all that, we bleed the same.

despite all that, our scars cast shame

upon the secrets we choose to hide-

despite the distance, we’re side by side.




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