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Home / Cafe Culture / Java Dreamssurveiling the curve of her hips through the steam of his latté that curve, he thinks could engulf my world wiping fog from his lenses he gazes blurry at the sway inhales her rockingchair walk catches his breath when the pendulum pauses as her bleachwatered hands press and smooth her apron flat how he'd love to press it flat smooth over those arching bones the archway to heaven to be sure he dreams of being cradled and soothed in a mug of steaming hips as broad as the equator as hot as frothed milk he doesn't notice her take notice of biscotti bits dangling from a hairy lip she prays with sighs she keeps in her pockets like change with a desire darker and stronger than day old Turkish coffee that he'll brush the crumbs from his whiskers and table and leave or leave a much sweeter tip (c) 2005 karen suriano |
