Morning Coffee

Ah! The smell of morning coffee,
unlike her cheap perfume last night
it makes me want to see
another day, another way
ahead.

Ah! The dripping from dunking
this stale bread, like our conversations
it softens with time.

Ah! The whispers under white sheets,
like raging torrents in the pine forests
made of sterner stuff than I
am.

Ah! The dreams again find their way
into the grey matter, hard as rock
like the place of my solitaire for you
presently occupied by another’s.

Ah! The smell of morning coffee.
Without it, what would I be?