This coffee tastes like simplicity and intimacy.
Like slowing down in a world where grind culture’s got us in a headlock.
This coffee tastes like my eyes on him and not the clock.
It tastes like listening with intention,
like people watching,
and fresh coffee beans roasted just for me.
This morning’s coffee tastes like warmth and rest.
Like embracing leisure
like language waiting on my tongue to be released
like laughter caught in my throat,
spilling over into conversation
and falling into my cup.
An anointing for me to sip
and let rest in the corner of my mouth.
This coffee tastes like it is building a home in me
to craft a new poem in its honor
to hone creativity in the quietude
of a cafe.
I brought our coffee date to life, haha.
The PBS Blog 
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