Poem 20150611

iced decaf americano

because no one makes
a regular cup of decaf coffee
not even in a coffee shop
not even in a shop
where the tables are tiny
and there are few seats

but the americano
tastes good
reminds me of real coffee
and it’s cold

even though the sky
is the color and texture of
soft lead weights
the ice is welcome

Poem 20150216

let that small moment be still
when the coffee is hot and pure
when the bed is warm and the floor is cold
when the bread is warm enough to soften but not melt butter
when the radio plays our favorite song
when your hand seeks out mine
when your breath is in the hollow of my collarbone
when your eyes are half-closed and your mouth half-open
let time stop in his tracks