Original 10/05/2020, Edited 12/05/2021
There’s no dull background noise; Everything sits in the small foreground. The music; curated for a young child, Is as conducive to creative writing as Feeding a lazy dog all of my pens And burning each of my notebooks. This room knows my name, Yet insists on calling me mother At every conceivable moment; At each attempt to concentrate On putting pen to digital paper. Although, I’m not being charged extra For dairy-free milk and chocolate syrup.
Do you still smell the same? Intoxicating and inviting. Being wrapped in your arms, Would leave me drunk off desire, Do you still taste the same? Rich, and melting in my lustful mouth, Like freshly pressed coffee, And sweet fragrant vanilla. Do you still feel the same? Would your touch leave me trembling again? Would my hands still know you? Grip you tight in ecstasy.
Come on in. Tea? Coffee? Ah, coffee, good choice. I'll just top up the cafetiere. Your pictures, Serve you but little justice, You're attraction, Is in the eyes, Not the red reflection. Your mannerisms, Most enticing, And the level of ease, The flow of conversation, Magnificent. Over a coffee, I learned you, Realized your significance, The role you play, In my small life. The options you open, The knowledge you offer. Over a simple coffee, We laughed, Smiled together. Enjoyed the bliss, Of casual conversation
The Poet Armistead 