Morning Coffee

”This morning, with her, having coffee.” (Johnny Cash, when asked for his description of paradise)

A coffee stain on my desk; you left it behind,

and I soujurn there, staring to it like it was a magic circle

to figure it out our destiny.

My eyes follow the curves slowly, leisurely:

round and round, circles to circles;

falling into a deep trans.

Your empty mug is like

a forgotten shell of cave paintings inside.

Tough its art was not born at the dawn of mankind,

it just saw the light on ours.

And it still keeps the mark of your lips

which previously shared a warm kiss with its edge .

Your spoon is like a strange mirror,

it shows the truth on its own way:

me, sitting there hanging from the ceiling

like a frozen teardrop;

an icicle of gods,

lingering for melting up.

The poured-out sugar is like

a white desert,

consists of diamond crystals;

it’s like a secret contellations of unknown stars,

waiting for read and discover

them and their mysteries.

The tiny crumbs of your breakfast roll

are like in that fairy-tale: leftover marks

which leads to your way; calling me to follow you on your journey.

I wish I could act and go after you, because I lack you,

but undergoing all I stay instead

to stand my ground and face my own demons of day.

Your ash-tray is like a phoenix’s nest.

The remain of your last cigarette

still has its glowing embers,

it’s like de facto hiding inside

the fragile body of that mythical bird

who is ready to be alive; to be born again.

Your empty chair, your place for me

is the only known stabile point

within the entire universe,

and it seems to turn now upside-down.

I’m like losing my own handrail;

my ability to exist without gravity.

I want to scream from the top of my lungs,

but then, I come to realize, though I’m all alone in the kitchen,

crouched hunchedly on that little chair of mine,

waiting for the moment; for you to return,

yet, from you, somehow I’m still capable

to draw strength to go on.

Because for me, you know,

you are the source of all joy and beauty;

a never-dwindling well, an unquenchable torch,

giving me the endurance; the stamina to begin

and carry through the day;

Because… you are the morning coffee on my desk.

For Litographs & Tyler Knott Gregson