Coffee in the Morning

 
How else could coffee ever be served but in this
Abundantly lavish fashion of cinnamon and honey
Coconut cream and the scent of such, oh this
Swirl of bird song in the morning that cuddle me
Coo me in the warmth of his breasts, how else
Could these carmine berries ever be savoured
But in the pensive touch of his hands, rehearse,
Replay like yesterday's broadcast of salvaged
News, how else would I want mornings served
But this way over and over, with his kisses.

The sun breaks through the blades of palm
Slathering the floor and feet, and the house
Next door bustles with funerary chores swarm
Of men's voice and the cackle of hens loud
While the women work quietly, here I ponder
The love of the man beside me when the first
Kiss feels that of the last embrace, when it is over
And the silence of breath sets about the thirst
For things past, things heavy in memory
And how else to remember sweetly but with coffee.