BLUE PROSES

DRINKING COFFEE AT NOON

                 

                                                                   Drinking Coffee At Noon

There will be empty afternoons. I know that we're the lightings in the same way, on a rough Christmas eve—we bruise forest mountains a little more easily than most. You see, our souls were made in the same shock. We collapse in every cyclone and pretend that thunder is not our unison sound. But it is our entire volume trying to be recognized. We're just not telling the loudness of our heart-shaped connection. We are afraid of recognition. I want to light a spark tonight, without striking up a memory of you that would potentially be series of jolly bees. Please don't send me a good body language wrapped in aurora borealis. I wanna hear your thunder~ behind every quiet and holy Sundays. I wanna taste your lips behind every smirk when you flash-glance at me with your puddled eyes. I can see coffee beans behind the gaps of your lips and I wanna roast that French classic with a fist full of sugar~ that I'd rather dare drinking a beer mug of strong blend for the first time just to know how to palpitate with an overly-caffeined heart. I know there's nothing non-cancery wrong with my chest. I know you are fazed or frantic. Who could coffee-blame you? Our connection is a hurricane wrapped inside a chrysalis. And you are~ my nothing walking into the storm. It's a sunny afternoon. And if you feel like there would be storm on your way home, I will be here, on the other side of our glassy-transparent table, seating on a soft matte-black beanbag. Gasping the butterscotch smell of my newly-roasted beans. You knocked three times, like Sheldon on Penny's door, and as I look in awe at the sheer magnitude of your admission, my jaw just dropped and I can't manage to clench my fists. I would take your hand in mine and tell you; if only you had let me, this is how much I could have loved you. My tongue felt the heat of the new-boil. I was drinking~ and maladaptive daydreaming. It was a great illusion. I made a cup for two. Until when will I drink both of them?Coffee is more likely my transition point. It vanishes the blandness of everything. It makes me feel that there are bloods circulating in my entire autonomy and I have hearts trembling to beat. Coffee is my rest when ocean is not around. Mundane days are better with a couple cup. Rainy days demands an espresso party. Bad days requires palpitation-setbacks. But, regardless of whatever health issues that might potentially subscribe to me, I least care. Life is nothing but a boiling water. I'm a ghoul and I need cups after cups. I was looking for someone, I can call my cafeteria. But~ still, not it any spot.My cup is empty, like a soju bottle after party. I can drive a car with an ambulance speed without bringing any license, just for another cup. Just for another sip. Just for the beans. I have never felt this emotion, but, I can recognize what it was~Another longing for coffee at mid- noon. And one of these days I hope, you're seating next to my coffee table, with two cups of French roast.