i drew some
black and white sketches
last night
sketches of coffee cups
and steamy words
with no sugar
and cream.
sketches of bearded moon
hanging with
falling fireflies
and coughing out toxic breaths.
sketches of smoke
and spirits
masking the true sound
of art.
sketches of a lady in
red, walking away
in the rain
under her cover
walking away
from the black and white
sounds, of despair
and pain
of broken heart
isn’t being alone together
better than
being apart?
every time i visit a cafe
i find myself a corner
in the center
of all attention.
it’s a hard place to claim.
i dress the chair
with my borrowed jacket
and proceed
to secrete away my bodily fluids.
then i chat up the barista
and get my cup
hoping she’d give me free refill
next time and
all the times after that.
it rarely happens
but i do what a man can do.
i find my old jacket
waiting for me
without complaining
that i didn’t get her a cup.
i like that.
and then it’s church time.
that’s how the life
goes by.
alone, in the center
of all attention.
cheers darlin’
here’s to you
my last toast of
dark hot brew
after the summer sky
dies, and words in
my blood
become cold and
wise
i will drink
you to freeze
myself, just like
those alive and
broken few.
I saw a steamy
hot cappuccino
waiting, in front
of me.
soon enough, her
owner held her up
and the series of
unfortunate events
started.
click. YAAASSSS. post.
“hold it like this.”
“look lost, like
you’re thinking about
how good it is.”
damn right, she is
pretty good.
beautiful, indeed.
few more click and
taps later, the hearts
started pouring in.
sadly enough, the noise
of her owner’s escape
blinded the silent art of
a hot brew.
I felt bad.
for her.
for she wasn’t
warm inside
anymore.
i drank poetry today.
the dripping speck
of its black ink
invited my enticing taste buds
to grab a sip from the
hot, steamy brew
of words
dreaming together like
the arctic bay breeze.
i brought it closer
to the horizon
of my eyes, and wished
upon myself
the fortunes of
no bias, and lies.
even though the truth
was bitter as
her sly smile, it was
still the truth, in
every word and line.
i drank poetry today.
or
maybe it was just
coffee.
come on in my kitchen
i’ll show you
what flavors you are
missing
from the richness of
a land far way
to the very essence
of kissing.
i’ll let you stir
the boiling pot
while i smell
your hands holding the brew
and lick the dripping
coffee, off your
espresso lips
even before you have a clue.
the smell of coffee and rain,
takes me back
it’s all white and black,
to the times simpler and sane.
i’ll be the last one leavin’,
before you close the door
& can’t scream no more,
i’ll lick your inside,
slowly sippin’,
like my hot black coffee
on a gray rainy evenin’.
“What do you want?”
I wondered, as I looked
right at the question.
I thought of many things
they never put on the menu.
like a job, a truck,
food, always more food,
a little gas money, an expensive guitar,
more open roads, less speed limits.
freedom.
time.
things they can’t give me.
“By the way, I like your hair.”
I’d rather take coffee than
compliments right now, I thought
to myself.
Just coffee, I replied.
“And how would you like it?”
Black – like my soul.
“Roll up on that hot chick at the bar and ask her out.
Roll up on that good looking dude and ask him to coffee.
Roll up on your business idea and make it happen.
Because being 50, 60, 70, and having regret that you didn’t swing the bat is the worst regret of them all.”
– Gary Vaynerchuk
If I die tomorrow
would you
miss me?
Would you miss
the dance of my naked footsteps
on the cold wooden floor
Would you miss
my voice
in your ears
Would you miss
getting lost
in my coffee pool eyes
Would you miss
my laugh
echoing through your heart
Will you miss
the way
the rise
and
the fall
of my chest quickens
when you’re near
Will you miss
how I tug
at your heart strings
with such ease
or how easily
you tug
at mine
Would you miss
the taste of spices
on my skin
from turning my empty house
into a home
whenever I cooked
for you
Would you miss
my Ying
to your Yang
Will there be
an empty space
in your heart
from all the times
I rested
my ear against you
to listen
to the song
that
your heart sings
Will there be
an empty space
in your heart
your heart
where you keep
a special place
for me
and
what about your mind?
Will it be
the same
when I’m gone
or
Will you always
remember the nights
we spent
talking about
our true selves
and
how we’ll
take over the
world
and
dreamed about
having skinny feet
together
Will you remember
That
your eyes
are
my favorite color
That
your “hello”
is
my favorite sound
That
your warmth
is
my favorite feeling
Will you miss
me
the way
I already miss you?
Life in a blog 