Saturday, July 9, 2011

16. Morning Glory

the burnt honey brightly trickles,
drops of fragrant translucent liquid
plummet to the jugs below:
Columbian, chocolate macaroon, crème brûlée

aromas fill the darkened hall,
nasal cavities resound with waking sense
(and now we wait, stuffing the trays
like horizontal Christmas stockings)

I am alone for these first shaded moments
crouching in the darkness, thinking;
behind the metal lattice things prepare themselves,
waiting until the moment they shine

it is almost therapeutic,
these exotic beans -
tickling the senses,
emboldening the eyes

No comments:

Post a Comment

One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson