coffee talk memories

 

moonbeams in the cold, black coffee

quakes in the chipped cup just out of reach of my fingertips

on that damn shelf you built for me:

glass shards in concrete,

wrapped in honey-stained fir…

re-purposed dock planks

where we first fucked, embraced by fog;

my heart breaking so loudly as to deafen me

in the hush of your back turning,

to leave me naked,

saying:

“See ya later.  I’m headin’ to the Canteen

to wash you out of my mouth.”

 

(c) r. l. elke