Wicked Wednesday: Coffee

woman drinking coffee with two imaginary men

By Marco Castellani (Flickr: Schizophrenia) [CC BY-SA 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Driving down a dusty road at dusk, it’s time to stop
My eyes are growing weary as they follow the blacktop.
The tears are causing prisms as they well up in my eyes
If I were to be in a wreck it’d come as no surprise.

Now up ahead I see a sign and I choose to pull in,
The neon from the diner draws tattoos upon my skin.
The parking lot is empty but for three late model cars,
And dust upon their bodies shimmers brightly like the stars.

The bell above the door rings softly as I step inside,
Not many there to see the tears upon my cheeks have dried.
There’s not a lot of clientele, and so I take a seat
Upon a tattered stool I take the load off of my feet.

The waitress brings a coffee pot and motions to the cup,
I nod and watch the ember liquid as it fills it up.
I curl my fingers round the mug and stare into the dark,
The tears are welling up again, for you have made a mark.

I never drink my coffee black, so now I add some cream,
And then a pack of sugar that dissolves into the steam.
And as I stir the sugar in I feel a tight, sharp pain
For everything that could have been if it were not profane.

I miss your touch upon me when I wake up in the dawn,
Your caress and your whispers that would always turn me on.
The strength of your libido as we’d fuck the day away,
And yet somehow I didn’t have the impetus to stay.

I think about the love we shared and what I’ve left behind,
The way you used to fuck me; our libidos intertwined.
I miss the things you’d tell me that would make me feel so good,
I want to have you back again and be the way we should.

My coffee’s almost finished and my stomach feels full,
I have half a mind to turn back as I feel your longing pull.
I take another mouthful and I grimace at the grounds
What’s left is just the bitterness, as crazy as that sounds.

I leave a tip and go outside and climb into my car,
My heart is torn but going back would be just too bizarre.
I wipe my eyes and start my car, and drive into the night,
My life is like my coffee cup, now empty, but all right.

 

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Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

6 Responses to Wicked Wednesday: Coffee

  1. I really like this stanza:
    Now up ahead I see a sign and I choose to pull in,
    The neon from the diner draws tattoos upon my skin.
    The parking lot is empty but for three late model cars,
    And dust upon their bodies shimmers brightly like the stars.
    This reminds me of a million nights on road trips pulling into diners or truck stops in order to get coffee to stay awake; really familiar imagery, and I *love* the personification of the neon sign drawing tattoos!

  2. You know I am a big fan of your poetry and this one is no different. I love how you use the prompts, but also the feelings you convey with your poems. It’s beautiful an you are very talented!

    Rebel xox

  3. Oh man. Talk about bittersweet.