drip by Veera Mahuli

Updated: Mar 9


Art by Camille Pissarro


sunshine rolled me out of bed

i stood silently by the microwave

it took twelve minutes for my coffee to brew

four cups- twelve minutes

my toes trying to wriggle out of my socks

my nails counting the seconds in my palms

drip, drip, drip

every drip grew into your words

they used to be mine to wear

now they lie in trash cans

and the only memory I have of them

the dregs of my coffee try to recreate

my mind wanders to the cigarette

i stashed away last night

it wasn’t supposed to be this way

i thought it would be my last

just like the many convictions i had about you

this one fails too

i hear the beep

my palms revel in the warmth of my coffee mug

i trudge to my room

and turn my eyes to the sun

filtering through my window pane

i fix my glance on every plant on the window sill

they fill my heart with fondness

it takes me back to the brown of your eyes

and i cherish the final gulp of my coffee

it tears me to remember

that you know i like my coffee bitter


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