Forgotten cooled

Sometimes I forget to drink while it’s hot,

and later when I peer into the cup

it’s gone halfway down and a skin has formed,

marred the creaminess and puckered it up.

I could pinch it between finger and thumb

and remove it gently, reheat and restart

and finish it to the dregs as usual

but drinking halfway cup’s also an art -

not everyone can remove those skins

to lift them seamless requires expertise

and put that exact heat back in the drink -

preference is a matter of degrees.

So I pour it off, let the half go waste

the temperature makes or mars the taste.

Does it happen to you sometimes too? :)  The cup, the glass, the cafe, tavern, inn etc, someplace with lots of comings and goings is a staple of Eastern metaphors. Comfort food. Or rather, drink. I have a craving for it right now :)

Dilute

I’ve been drinking half-latte since you’ve gone;

seems fitting – this dilution when alone,

that the strength and taste of coffee should change-

half the richness, the spoon’s lonely one-mug plunge,

the very rims of cup, contents and home.

Nearness underpins all manner of things,

the scents and concentrations of my mornings,

the places and glasses set at my table.

Distance makes my words flicker, disables

them in fade-out grey, slightly shifts the meanings.

The worlds spin the same, and my life too turns

regardless of when you leave and return.

I drink my coffee, I write the verses down;

I chat with friends, mention you’re out of town;

I find new frames for words like ‘lone’ and ‘yearn’.