I open my cupboard and inhale deeply the comfortable smell of coffee.
This is the mark of you in my life
for I never developed a taste for bitter
Even you,
sleepy eyed before the wafting tendrils wander
through house and dreams
nudging your mind towards wakefulness
even you cannot claim you have a taste for bitter,
heaping sweetness as you do
letting each beautiful granule dissolve
No you do not let bitterness mar you tongue
you taste only the complexities of sun on leaf,
loam of time and place,
tiny signatures painted upon your lips
and I, immersed as I am in this tender world
of steam and pressed ritual.
They say scent is the doorway to memory
I stand on the hinges of space breathing in
each lingering marker of you
And smile.
