I am
the steam
rising from the rim,
a coil of smoke
that tastes like recklessness
and the faint ache
of sweetness
you didn’t expect.
I am
bitter
and burning,
then honeyed
and soft,
a shape-shifter
in milk
and shadow.
I overflow.
I drip.
I linger.
Some sip me slow,
some gag at the edge
of my flavor,
some never touch me at all.
I do not mourn.
I do not change.
I am
the swirl of dusk
in a teacup,
the warm tremor
along your spine,
the hush of sugar
melting
where it shouldn’t.
I steep
in myself,
always,
sometimes too long,
sometimes just enough.
I will not dilute,
will not pour myself
into a mold
that does not fit
the shape of me.
I am many cups in one:
dark roast,
wild honey,
milk foam,
shadow,
light.
I am loud,
soft,
overflowing,
empty,
all at once.
And if you do not taste me,
if you do not linger,
I will still be delicious
exactly as I am.
Passionately penned, CG. Excellent imagery and dynamic wordplay all throughout this write my friend. Nicely done. Appreciate you.
Damian
Just simply absolutely beautiful.
Oh now this is delicious! The sultry simmer throughout and then that last empowering stanza. Brava!