Helix

Black coffee is my incomplete language
Swirls of past selfs clinging backwards, clockwise
Connecting dots in a frame not basic
Hot on my lips, roasted in my veins

I liquefy, melt inside, dead cocoon
Plastered bitter somewhere in an old house
Strung up on possibilities pained maroon
Lazy, I opt for pathways learned sideways

My cup sweats, begging for its routine
Glossy it rides my curves appetite
A steamy, fiery night-colored machine
Gracing my tongue with eclipse and solstice

Gone is the tired wounds embrace
Culled for harvest in each and every sip.