expresso mass

 

 

turn the cup to get the crumb on the surface

you'll find the coffee stays in place

as cup handle is dialed in the hands

its mass is ignorant of its edges

meeting cup, focuses on its center,

contained

 

losing its form, it

warms down the throat,

tingles, warms the body

 

then, one hand circles small

and the surface waves produced

wash the crumb mouthside

creamy bitter intoxicant

silks a morsel

 

down into the cream, i flowered

i was creamy sweet from the carton spout

i stretched and marbled and blackened brown

stirred, i became disparate,

snug against the sugar

 

 

March 4, ©1995

Amy Jackson

 

 

poetry

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