That Old Black Gold Magic
the groaning of the sex
between water and coffee
the pot thickens
at each drip the ripples wave
beacons that beckon with whiffs
a promise of a cure for the disease
flow from the mist the steam defies gravity
once trapped
following a dream of least resistance
looking at the world open
without embarrassment
a refrain composed
like a potters clay
from the dirt
with a back beat accompaniment
and the steady whirring
sleepless and constant
dripping with anticipation
that old black gold magic
A. MENDOZA, 2017
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