Morning Coffee Poem by Diana Bosa

"This morning, with her, having coffee.".
(Johnny Cash, when asked for his description of paradise)

A coffee stain on my desk; you left it behind,
and I soujurn there, staring to it like it was a magic circle
to figure it out our destiny.
My eyes follow the curves slowly, leisurely:
round and round, circles to circles;
falling into a deep trans.

Your empty mug is like
a forgotten shell of cave paintings inside.
Tough its art was not born at the dawn of mankind,
it just saw the light on ours.
And it still keeps the mark of your lips
which previously shared a warm kiss with its edge.
 
Your spoon is like a strange mirror,
it shows the truth on its own way:
me, sitting there hanging from the ceiling
like a frozen teardrop;
an icicle of gods,
lingering for melting up.

The poured-out sugar is like
a white desert,
consists of diamond crystals;
it's like a secret contellation of unknown stars,
waiting for read and discover
them and their mysteries.
 
The tiny crumbs of your breakfast roll
are like in that fairy-tale: leftover marks
which lead to your way; calling me to follow you on your journey.
I wish I could act and go after you, because I lack you,
but undergoing all I stay instead
to stand my ground and face my own demons of day.
 
Your ash-tray is like a phoenix's nest.
The remain of your last cigarette
still has its glowing embers,
it's like de facto hiding inside
the fragile body of that mythical bird
who is ready to be alive; to be born again.
 
Your empty chair, your place for me
is the only known stabile point
within the entire universe,
and it seems to turn now upside-down.
I'm like losing my own handrail;
my ability to exist without gravity.
 
I want to scream from the top of my lungs,
but then, I come to realize, though I'm all alone in the kitchen,
crouched hunchedly on that little chair of mine,
waiting for the moment; for you to return,
yet, from you, somehow I'm still capable
to draw strength to go on.

Because for me, you know,
you are the source of all joy and beauty;
a never-dwindling well, an unquenchable torch,
giving me the endurance; the stamina to begin
and carry through the day;
Because… you are the morning coffee on my desk.