Coffee (A Poem)

As Monty Python puts it "and now, for something completely different". 


 It's July 2, and Grey and I have been married for an entire month. He remarked to one of our friends on Sunday that he could almost tell the exact moment that the caffeine from my coffee hits me in the morning. I am not a morning person and this kind soul makes me coffee almost every day. Apparently it is comical to see me go from mostly dead and inarticulate to a whole person with a smile and some conversation. I myself am unaware of this transformation, but I wrote him a poem about it all the same. 


This is for you, Grey.


Transform


 Slow dancing with the coffee pot fingers
twined around ceramic figures
lips come close to  touch 
to imbibe to dive in 
the hot bitter dark liquid.
 Consciousness filters in 
     like light through a dirty window 
     a constant and vigilant beacon 
       in a murky world.