February 21, 2016
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Over an espresso I fall
particles of memories glisten
hazy eyes and head
sidewalk cafe noise fading.
He was there last night,
as he was before
when his eyes witnessed
my scented skin arrive.
Lime on my lips
calling out for another
lust cloaked in laughter
casually, doe lashes flutter.
Over an espresso I gaze
through eyes wisdom lined
with flesh less soft
in clothes more constructed.
Vulnerable is my heart
I wonder if today
at a sidewalk cafe
as people pass by–
will he speak words
he could not say before
which validate my fear
while my head spins.
Yet peering over The Times, he whispers–
“How’s your espresso, hon?”
I nod in appreciation
of the taste, moment, and him.
Intimacy and trust delicate
he is here this morning,
as he always is
over an espresso I love.