a bag Of beans


You made me breathe mountain air
and cigarette smoke
as i drown my
thoughts in the lake in view
and my insides with
a tall macchiato.


And the macchiato
is bittersweet
but soothing
to my cold skin
being blown by
the chilly mountain
air,


Fogged by my cigarettte's
blue fumes
that warm
my lungs


So


I came to long for a warm
Touch.


And your hands look firm
Your fingers harbor the cigarette I gave you
with such
firmness


that
I wanted you to hold me,
too.


That I wanted to hold you to know
if
you are real.


That we breathe the same
air and smoke.


You went for another
cup
of coffee


One is not enough.


as I
palpitate (in such a lame fury)


not because


of the bittersweet macchiato,
or of the burning tobacco.


I know that the lake
in view
has a pot of flaming mud
in it's heart
despite its cool, blue, placid waters.


One could sometimes be not enough.



You're back with a smaller cup this time
with a promise of
taking me
to you


After coffee.


And then I lit
another umpteen stick
and
another string
of thought
came forth,


on how i am
not
supposed to
breathe
mountain air,
and macchiatos
can make me palpitate,
and there's sugar in the counter.


Brown and white.


Patience is a virtue.



We went to your
place.


Where
patience is a virtue.


But the fruits that were born are
like macchiatos.


Bittersweet.


And still I palpitate.


For your hands are
not firm
but are the innards of coffee jelly,


colder than the mountain air.


Maybe
I'm really not supposed
to be having coffee
and giving off tar fumes


here
in the mountain where there is a lake in view with a pot of flaming mud in its heart.


Because


Macchiatos
are bittersweet.

Rav De Castro
expressions
16:54