On Cups of Coffee



The rim of this cup

is a ledge I want

to slip off of.


Where the reflection

makes me starry-eyed

casting up visions

of the ceiling. It looks

like a blank sky.


Spilled or spilling,

and hopeful or hoping

that it could go back,

a video of waterfalls

played backwards.


He let the grounds in,

they scattered the surface

like dead fish dotting

the lake.


He had cookies

and I only have this.

The dark liquid,

a scent almost of earth,

to pull me back

to where I used to be.


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