Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Coffee

Fresh from slumber,
With eyes struggling to open
Still rich with sleep custard,
I am tempted to mull over dreams
That a teacher once said must be
Shared to be remembered,
Even if it's just to a notepad
Or a stoic face looking back,
From the black surface
Of a drained smartphone.

But, no.
There will be no dream recall. No, sir.
This piece is not about dreams made in sleep.
But of dreams made after one awakens.

As fast as the familiar sting
Of freshly opened eyes sets in,
So does the thought of you.
Of your scent, of your taste,
Of the way my senses are tickled
By the blissful rush you bring,
When you touch my lips,
And caress my tongue,
Not caring one bit if i gargled
Or brushed.

You are a drug.
And I'm addicted.

Mother always told me
When i was a little boy,
That i had to wait til i grew up.
That i had to have good reason.
That it had to always be special,
That i shouldn't feel the need
To have you all the damn time.

And lately I've been told five times.
Five times a day is a reasonable limit.
Just one is recommended, two is reasonable,
Three is okay. Four is a lot.
Five is the limit. But six? Too much, they say.

But, i don't really care.
Sometimes, i do seven. One time i did eight.
And, yes, even i have to admit
That was a mistake.

But I'm not letting you go.
Til i greet my grave, I'll keep you.
And have you. And taste you.
And come alive through your blissful gifts
Even if it means that as an aging man
I must suffer twice or thrice
A normal human's heartbeat in one minute.
I don't care.

I need you.
And for as long as i live,
My morning greeting will always be:
Your name. Coffee.

Ludwig Quirog
February 2018

Ludwig is a fellow poet from Bohol and he beat me in making an odeto the most precious drug on earth.

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