You ask me, everyday
- why do you love me?
For the coffee split from pearls of beauty
bubbling in my percolator,
old fashioned girl that I am
on Sunday's, I like to make
a good brew on the stove, the "old gal"
as I call her, isn't going to last
much longer.
her parts are worn, loose fitting
and the little glass button nub in the lid
jingles against the metal rim
But the drink she makes, is rich
and resonant, like the colour
of your skin, close to my handtouching your morning
I carefully pour in the beans
reach my hands around your middle
sip the hot liquid smile
from your eyes, arabica-ground coloured
gems of wisdom, chase my day
and bids you awake
awake to my world
Adding your comment:
Dammit, Woman, you're makin' me weep & I detest weeping women. 
Makes my nose stuffy, my eyes puffy & it ruins my mascara...& unlike the ladies in the movies, it ain't a pretty picture. 
I weep not only because is this such a beautiful, honest, heart~felt piece...but also 'cause I can't have any coffee & haven't had any since September. 
I could easily lick this page...& ohhh, I am sooo tempted to. 
Absolutely gorgeous. I love percolators instead of "coffee makers" (although I do love its "set it to go off before I wake" function...Mmmm...the smell alone would get my lazy butt outta bed) 
